


Back To The Old House

by raisuki (inthegripofahurricane)



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, L is a broody broody broodman, Lies, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Torture, Yakuza!Light, enough pop culture references to make even me sick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthegripofahurricane/pseuds/raisuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing his parents, thirteen year-old Light Yagami is taken in by the wealthy and powerful Lawliets--an influential crime family. Years later, Light is instructed to track down his stepfather's only biological son, L Lawliet, who has long been outcast and hasn't been seen in years. But as Light's involvement with the Yakuza deepens, he discovers that some secrets are best left buried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. first snow in kokomo

**Author's Note:**

> This is extremely self-indulgent, and has been floating around my head for a while because of my general mobster movie boner. Enjoy, I guess.

_**Here at least** _

_**we shall be free; the Almighty hath not built** _

_**Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:** _

_**Here we may reign secure, and in my choice** _

_**to reign is worth ambition though in Hell:** _

_**Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav'n.** _

**\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_**

* * *

 

It was a clear day during October when Light’s life fell apart—and subsequently put back together.

 

He’d woken up at his normal time of six thirty—even though he didn’t need to have been in school for another two hours. Most teenagers of his age would have wanted a lie in, but Light hated the risk of being late, should something have gone wrong.

Despite this, getting up early was nothing to do with looking forward to school. Light loathed school; and couldn’t wait until he was in high school, and maybe then, the curriculum would get marginally more interesting. He was just thirteen at the time, but despite the intelligence he’d shown time and time again, people still spoke to him as if he were stupid.

 

The school day was disgustingly ordinary, at least in hindsight. When Light looked back on it, he couldn’t bring himself to believe God didn’t bother with some kind of cosmic signal to let him know a massive storm was coming. The only thing that made the day different was the sheet of snow that covered Kanto—although it was quickly turned slushy and brown once the city was roused and began the same monotonous day for the nth time.  

 

He trudged back home from school, doing his best to ignore the biting weather. He’d wrapped himself in various scarfs, hats, and jumpers, but the cold had still managed to snake its way under his clothes and make him shiver.

The first thing Light was hit by when he opened the front door was the stench. It was so metallic and overbearing he blanched and closed his eyes, stumbling forward with his arm over his nose. When he opened his eyes, he caught sight of the heap on the floor.

It was his mother, slumped on the carpet, her hair spread around her face in a way that could almost be picturesque.

 

At first, Light didn’t react. For the first time in his life, his mind was completely blank.

He forced himself to walk closer to her corpse, and from that angle, his eyes latch onto the body of his father, just meters away. In a way, he wasn’t surprised.

 

His mother’s eyes were closed, and the pool of blood around her was large enough to reach the tips of his shoes. She must have died from a series of smaller wounds, Light deduced numbly.

His father’s eyes, however, were still wide open, a single round, crimson circle in the center of his head. If Light pretended all the blood wasn’t there, his mother could have been asleep—but the same couldn’t have been said for his father.

 

With shaking hands, he reached down and closed his father’s eyes in a single sweeping motion. He knew it probably wasn’t the best idea to get his fingerprints on the body, but Light was too distant to care.

 

He remembered Sayu, and rushed up the stairs. The floor beneath him had begun to spin, but Light still felt nothing at all. It was if his physical reaction had come on time, but his emotional one had been delayed.

Sayu always came home before him, and logically, she should have been upstairs. Dead or alive—he couldn’t be sure.

 

Sayu wasn’t in her room, although it clearly had been ravaged for anything of importance. Light dutifully looked through every room in the house—but she was still nowhere to be found. After searching every corner for her, he slumped against the door of his room, unblinkingly staring at the opposite wall. It was a pure white, just like the snow was when he’d first woken up.

 

Light wasn’t sure how much later the police arrived—although it couldn’t have been long, since one of the neighbors apparently called when they’d heard gunshots earlier.

One of them crouched in front of Light and attempted to coax him off the floor, wrapping a blanket around his shaking shoulders and telling him it would be okay.

 

It won’t be, obviously, Light thought scathingly. Everything he’d ever known had been torn from his grip, and he couldn’t even bring himself to cry.

 

Light was taken to the police, and sat on a chair in one of the offices. He watched the policemen bustle around and work, barely taking anything in. Occasionally, one stopped to murmur something supposedly soothing to him, before giving him a wan smile and disappearing.

He’d overheard some adults talking at a desk, after picking up his surname. They’d been talking about Sayu in low voices, calmly discussing their plan of action in searching for her. They hadn’t sounded optimistic.

 

And yet, the trauma still seemed a hundred miles away.

 

Trauma.

 

Light hated the word.

 

Nothing seemed real—like a dream he’d wake up from soon enough. The people and sounds around him seemed to exist behind a fog, as if he was hearing them through water.

 

Light was jolted out of his thoughts when he felt a hand on his shoulder. A policewoman was staring at him nervously, playing and tugging at her fingers. She looked young, and had a pretty, round face.

 

“Uh—there’s someone here to see you.” She stammered.  

 

Light nodded and stood up, then trailed behind her as she lead him through various labyrinthine hallways. Eventually, she deposited him in an office on the other side of a building.

It was medium in size and modestly decorated. On one of the couches, there was a man sitting, along with his aunt—Aki.

 

“Light-chan,” She smiled weakly, and ran towards him, pulling him into a tight embrace. His face was pushed into her chest, and his nostrils were filled with her cheap perfume. He felt sick.

 

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” she whispered. Her voice was thick and nasal from crying.

 

Light had only met Aki a few times. She was a few years younger than his mother, but was unmarried, and had chosen to travel the world instead. According to his mother, she was a self-described free spirit with a knack for forgetting important things.

 

He pulled away from her gently, and despite looking offended, she let him. Her eyeliner had begun to run, and her cheeks were tinged with pink.

 

“You’re going to stay with me for a few days,” She murmured with a thin smile, “Until your new guardian comes.”

 

Light frowned. “You’re not going to take care of me?”

 

He wasn’t really surprised. He’d never thought to rely on her.

 

Aki averted her gaze, seemingly abashed. “You can’t really stay with me. I’m travelling around, you see…” Her voice teetered off, and she had the decency to look ashamed.

 

She attempted to carry on, but Light didn’t listen. He was quietly disgusted by her selfishness, but he hadn’t expected much better. Out of the few times he had met Aki in person, not one of them had left him with a good impression of her.

 

“I understand.” He told her, doing his best to keep his voice even. “Who’s my new guardian?”

 

The man in the suit rose, and took a few steps toward them. “Your father wrote in his will that if something were to happen to him, you should be looked after by his family friend. Alexei Lawliet.”

 

The name was foreign, and the man in the suit clearly struggled to pronounce it. Light had never heard of an Alexei Lawliet—his father had never mentioned him. Could he be a co-worker? Or just a friend?

 

Whoever he was, Light would be spending at least the next five years of his life with him. If he’d been friends with his father, Light imagined he couldn’t be too bad, since his father made a point of only befriending those he believed to be honest and kind. He sighed, doing his best to resign himself to his fate.

 

“When will I meet him?” He asked tiredly.

 

* * *

 

 

Aki took him to a hotel a few miles away from the police station, and checked them both into a small but comfortable room. She slept in the bed opposite his, and for the first hour after she turned off the lights, Light could hear her sobbing into her pillow, before her breath eventually evened out and she fell asleep.  

 

Light didn’t remember falling asleep, and only caught an hour or two in the early morning. In his dream, he saw Sayu, wandering through the streets of Tokyo, her arms wrapped tightly across her chest. She called out their parents’ names—and occasionally his. Soon, he lost sight of her, and couldn’t seem to find her again.

He raced through streets, bleating out her name, his heart racing. She always seemed to be at the corner of his eye, but every time he thought he’d gotten close, she managed to slip away.  

 

He was awoken when Aki began to gently shake him. For a moment, he forgot where he was, until his eyes focused and he saw Aki hovering above him.

 

“What is it?” He asked groggily, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Lawliet-san is here to see you.” Aki said, looking flustered. “He’s in the lobby downstairs,”

 

Light reluctantly picked himself out of bed. His muscles burned, as if he has just run a marathon. He sat on the edge, waiting for Aki to continue.

 

Aki had already dressed and put makeup on, and was wearing an awkward, plastered-on smile. Light had no other clothes to change into, save the uniform he had been wearing yesterday, which was crumpled and wrinkly from lying on the floor for so long.  

 

“Okay,” He said glumly, turning away from her and picking up his clothes. “I’ll go get changed.”

 

Once he’d changed back into his uniform, albeit with reluctance, Aki took him downstairs. She’s done her hair in a fancy up-do, and had changed from the jeans she’d been wearing yesterday into a more formal-looking dress.

 

When they arrived in the lobby, Light caught sight of two men and one woman sitting on the couches. They were all dressed in beautiful, expensive-looking suits, and were speaking in low, careful voices.

 

One of the men had slicked-back salt and pepper hair, and wore a good-natured grin. He clearly wasn’t Japanese, and even from where he was, Light could tell he was speaking with an accent. He seemed to be in his late-forties, and had a lean, hunched frame. His attention was on the woman, and they spoke in calm undertones. The woman wore large, dark, sunglasses, and her lips were painted crimson. Her bleached-blonde hair was partially obscured by a large, expensive hat, and she looked perfectly at ease.

The second man was the only one not smiling, and was watching the other two speak with a slight frown. Unlike the other two, he looked Japanese, and only added the occasional comment.

 

The woman caught sight of Light. She fleetingly eyed his crumpled clothes, but quickly tapped the foreign man on the shoulder and pointed him out. The man smiled, and beckoned him and Aki over.

 

“Lawliet-san,” Aki said, in an uncharacteristically meek voice. She bowed, pointedly avoiding the man’s gaze.

 

_Oh. So that was Lawliet._

 

“Kurosawa-san.” Lawliet returned. He bowed, giving Aki a winning smile.

 

Lawliet’s gaze moved towards Light, who didn’t return his grin. Lawliet moved to shake his hand, but Light didn’t respond. Instead of looking offended, Lawliet merely chuckled.

 

“This is Yagami’s son?” He asked Aki, who nodded quickly. “How old is he?”

 

“He’s eleven, I believe.”

 

“I’m thirteen.” Light grumbled, with an indignant scowl.

 

Aki flushed, and laughed shakily. “Oh, of course. I forgot for a moment. I knew that.”

 

Lawliet ignored her, and grins crookedly at Light. “Come and sit down, Yagami-kun.”

 

Light did so, but with some hesitation. He didn’t like the looks of the people sitting with Lawliet, and something about the whole affair seemed terribly off.

Once he had sat down, Lawliet sat across from him.

 

“I’m glad I could meet you today, Yagami-kun.” Lawliet said, “Tell me something about yourself. What do you enjoy?”

 

Light presumed Lawliet was asking about hobbies—and he didn’t have any of those. He enjoyed tennis, but that was about it.

 

“I like tennis.” He said quietly.

 

“He’s very intelligent,” Aki piped in, “He has some of the highest test scores in the country—”

 

“So I’ve heard.” Lawliet said evenly. Wordlessly, he is telling Aki to stay quiet. “What’s your favorite subject, Yagami-kun?”

 

“I don’t know.” Light replied honestly, “Math, I suppose.”

 

Lawliet chuckled, as if this answer was immensely amusing. “Math, huh? I never liked it much myself.”

 

Although Light excelled in every area, he supposed he favored Math. He appreciated the black and white-ness of it all—things were either right, or they’re not. In a way, it was soothing.

 

“I was a close friend of your father’s, you know.” Lawliet said, “We used to work together.”

 

“He never mentioned you.”

 

“He’s joking,” Aki interrupted quickly, “He’s probably just forgotten hearing about you, I’m sure he has—”

 

“It’s alright,” Lawliet assured. “He may not have mentioned me, it’s understandable.” His looked back at Light. “You’ve probably heard, but your father wanted any of his children to be taken care of by me. We were friends during university, you see, I’ve always had your father’s complete trust.”

 

Light nodded dully.

 

“My home is about a mile outside of Kanto,” Lawliet continued. “It’s big. You’ll like it.”

 

Light didn’t care about how big Lawliet’s house was—he wanted his parents and Sayu back.

 

“I wish to homeschool you, if that’s alright. I know you’re intelligent, and I think it would be much more beneficial for you to work in an environment that goes at your pace.” Lawliet explained.

 

Light didn’t say anything, but he was glad that he wouldn’t have to go back to school. He’d always despised school, especially the nauseatingly slow pace that everything went at. Whoever his tutor was, Light doubted they’d be able to fully keep up with him, but it was better than having to wait for the rest of the idiots in his class.

 

“Such intelligence,” Lawliet said pensively, “Should be pushed to its full potential—especially at a young age.” He sighed, “I had a son, Lavrentiy. He reminds me of you. He was extremely intelligent. I wanted him to go into the family business, but I lost him.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Light said, unsure of what else he could say. Lawliet had probably heard those words over and over, but there wasn’t anything else he could say.

 

“Don’t be sorry. These things can’t be helped.” Lawliet waved his hand vaguely, “It was his own fault, really.”

 

Light was shocked by Lawliet’s bluntness, but said nothing. What could Lawliet’s son have done to make him believe his death had been coming to him?

 

“If it’s alright with you, I think you should personally return to your home to collect anything you want to take to your new home.” He nodded towards the woman, “Wedy can escort you.”

 

“Uh, when will I… be moving?”

 

“This coming Friday, most likely. You can go get your things next week, if that’s alright?” Lawliet replied, “You see, it’s still a crime scene, so you can’t go immediately…”

 

“I don’t mind.” Light muttered. “I can wait.”

 

“Good. I’m glad I could meet you, Light-kun,” Lawliet hesitated, “I can call you Light-kun, right?”

 

“Yes, it’s fine.”

 

Lawliet nodded. “Wedy will come and pick you up from the hotel in a few days, after the police are finished investigating. She’ll then take you back to your old house.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry to cut this meeting short, Light-kun, but I have work to do. I hope we can talk more tomorrow?” Lawliet asked briskly. He rose from his chair, nodding at his companions to do the same.

 

Light stood and gave Lawliet a bobbing bow, and quickly looked away. He was tired, and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Lawliet was affable enough, but Light didn’t want to talk to anyone, let alone how friendly they are.

 

“Besides, I understand if you’d rather be on your own.”

 

Lawliet offered his hand again, and this time, Light took it.

 

* * *

 

Wedy hardly spoke during their journey, and Light appreciated it. She was dressed in a designer pantsuit and boots, and was still wearing the large glasses that obscured half her face.

 

“Most of the police people should be gone.” She said smoothly, taking a tube of lipstick out of her purse and applying it to her mouth. “You should be free to get whatever you want.”

 

“Have they got any idea who did it?” Light asked quietly.

 

“As far as I’m aware, they believe it was a break and enter situation.” Wedy explained, with a slight sigh. “The criminal didn’t think anyone was in, and must have panicked and shot your parents when they saw them.” Her voice was clinical and emotionless, and Light was glad of it. Things were so much more bearable when emotions were omitted.

 

He nodded in acknowledgement, and stared out of the window. They were beginning to pass the buildings and houses close to Light’s home, and he felt sick.

Eventually, they stopped on Light’s street, and he trailed after Wedy down the sidewalk and to the house where he used to live. She fished out keys from her purse, and let them in.

 

The last time Light had been here, he’d found the bodies of his parents. He looked around cautiously, and to his surprise, the vast majority of the furniture had disappeared.  

 

“Most of the stuff on this floor has been sold or taken away,” Wedy explained, as if she’d read his mind. “Your room should mostly be the same, though.”

 

There was a pause, in which of neither of them spoke. Wedy walked to other side of the room, looking bored, her the clicking of her heels echoing all around the room.

 

“I’m going to go upstairs,” Light muttered. He didn’t look back as he trailed up the stairs and into his old room.

 

As Wedy had said, it was virtually untouched. His pajamas were still draped over the chair by his desk.

Light had no idea what to look at first, so instead he sat down on the bed, and stared at the wall. There had never been many interesting things in his room. He slept here, and worked here. That was the extent of all the personality it’d ever had.

The only things of mild interest were the gifts he’d never touched and the tools he’d needed for school, as well as clothes and stationary. It was only as he had to pick through what he wanted to keep, that he realized how dull everything was.  

 

Light only picked out a few items of clothing and photographs to take back in the end—because everything else meant nothing. He paused when he saw his old stuffed toys at the bottom of his wardrobe—but eventually decided to leave them, laughing at himself for even considering taking them. He hadn’t touched them in years, and he wasn’t  a child anymore.

He stopped in Sayu’s room after he finished looking through his own.  A few of her things had been taken out of her room, but mostly it was unchanged. There was still a line of her dolls and stuffed toys on top of her wardrobe and around her bed. She’d never had the heart to throw them out—even after she’d stopped playing with them.

 

He loitered down the stairs after packing all his things in the suitcase Lawliet supplied him with. Wedy looked pleased to leave, and together, they make their way back to the car. Light didn’t bother looking back.

* * *

 

Lawliet’s house was even bigger than Light had expected. Light had known Lawliet was rich, but he had no idea he was _this_ wealthy. He didn’t even know what Lawliet did for a living, but whatever it was, it had to pay well.

 

His house was in the suburbs of Tokyo, and in a sleek, modern and expensive-looking neighborhood. The driver pointed out Lawliet’s house—which seemed to be the biggest of them all. Lawliet’s driver kept on chatting to him idly, talking about his family and friends, but Light was barely listening.

 

“What does Lawliet do?” He asked the driver, not bothering to mask his boredom.

 

“Oh, he runs a grocery store chain.” The driver replied. Perhaps it was Light’s imagination, but his voice sounded strained.

 

“Must be a pretty successful grocery chain.” Light muttered, continuing to stare out the window.

 

The car drew up outside, then the driver stepped out and opened the door for Light. Light followed the driver towards Lawliet’s house, making sure to remain a few paces behind him. They stopped in front of the door, and the driver withdrew a key from his pocket, jamming it into the lock and turning.

 

The lobby was large and open, with vast windows staring out onto the street. From the outside, Light remembered they were tinted black. They must have been one sided.

 

“Uh, Lawliet-san?” The driver called nervously, shifting from foot to foot from bedside Light.

 

“One minute,” A modulated voice returned from the room next to them. From behind the door, Light could tell Lawliet wasn’t alone; he seemed to be talking to a number of people.

 

“Ah, I would stay, Yagami-kun, but I have other jobs to do. Is it alright if I…?” The driver asked.

 

“Yeah. That’s fine.” Light told him flatly.

 

The driver gave him an appreciative grin, and handed him his suitcase. Before Light could say any more, he was out the front door.

 

Light, unsure of what to do, hovered in the lobby. He felt like he should do something, but didn’t want to do anything without asking Lawliet first.

Eventually, a man appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a smart suit. He had silver hair, and a kind, wrinkled face.

 

“Light-kun.” He said, “I’m glad to finally meet you. I’m Watari, Lawliet-san’s butler.”

 

Light bowed, his gaze still on the floor. “Nice to meet you, Watari-san.”

 

Once Watari was down the stairs, he reached over and took Light’s suitcase, and nodded towards the stairs. “Shall I show you to your room?”

 

“…Okay.” Light said, with a forced smile. It was only eight at night, but he was already inexplicably exhausted. All he wanted was to curl up and go to sleep.

 

“Your room is on the third floor, towards the back of the house.” Watari said briskly, dragging Light’s luggage up the stairs. “I can show you the rest of my home tomorrow, if you’re tired now…”

 

“Yes, I am a little, actually. Tomorrow is good.”

 

Watari smiled and nodded, and began to lead Light through various halls. Eventually, they stopped at a door on the end of a corridor. Watari opened it, and stood back, allowing Light to walk inside.

It was bigger than any of the rooms that had been in Light’s old house, and the furniture looked twice as expensive. The bed was wide and comfortable-looking, with plush, white pillows.

 

“There’s an en suite through there,” Watari said, pointing towards the door on the other side of the room. “Do you want me to show you around…?”

 

“It’s fine. I’d really rather go to sleep.” Light said shortly.

 

If Watari was offended, he didn’t show it. “Very well. As I said, Yagami-kun, I’ll show you around tomorrow.”

 

Light gave him a small smile, and once Watari was out of the door, slumped onto the mattress. It was just as soft as it looked—and Light hadn’t even pulled the sheets over his body before he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

He occasionally drifted off, only to awaken again, never quite staying asleep for long enough to feel refreshed when he woke up again. After the third or fourth time, Light decided the best cause of action would be to get himself a glass of water from downstairs.

 

There were no glasses in the bathroom, to Light’s dismay. He would have to go downstairs to get some instead. He was unsure of the time, as he couldn’t see a clock anywhere in his room, but hoped no one is awake downstairs. It seemed unlikely, judging from Light’s internal clock, it was at least 3am.

 

By some miracle, he managed to weave his way through the hallways and find the first flight of stairs. He remembered Watari mentioning that they were on the third floor, and he began to wander down, attempting to remain as quiet as possible.

Even in the dark, Light could tell there were no paintings on the walls, only wide windows looking onto the street—a few without curtains. The stairs seemed to go on forever, and Light was still half asleep, which made his movements clumsy and slow.

 

Eventually, he noticed a pale, yellow light at the bottom of the stairway. He squinted, and realized with some surprise that people must still be talking downstairs. His suspicions were confirmed as he moved closer and heard murmurs from through the door. They voices sounded oddly urgent, and it was only when he was a few yards away from the door itself that he could actually make out the individual words.

 

“As far as we’re aware, Lavrentiy isn’t in the country anymore.” A male voice said cautiously. He spoke with an accent that Light couldn’t quite place.

 

“He’ll come back, sooner or later.” Another voice replied, and Light recognized it as Lawliet. “He’s prone to acts of impulsiveness, but he’s not an idiot.”

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do something about it?” It was Wedy this time, Light could tell. Her smooth, almost purring voice was unlike any other.

 

“Don’t bother, Wedy. It’s a waste of your time.” Lawliet told her dismissively. For the first time since Light had met him, he sounded slightly impatient. “Lavrentiy is unimportant, unless he decides to betray us, which I know he’s too intelligent to do.”

 

Light could remember hearing the name Lavrentiy before—when Lawliet had been talking about his son. Light had inferred from earlier that Lavrentiy was dead, but whatever their conversation was about, it didn’t seem to imply Lavrentiy was dead.

 

Light wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anymore, and instead jumped back and ran up the stairs as quickly as he could without making a noise.


	2. everybody wants to rule the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I changed the title of the fic, if you're confused. I figured the new one was catchier, but it's the same fic.

“Now for the freshmen address… freshmen representative, Light Yagami.”

 

“Yes.” Light called back, standing up and smoothing the trouser legs of his suit. With a quick glance at the crowd, he strode towards the stage, his arms swinging by his side. He could feel hundreds of awed stares on his back—no doubt for the sheer unlikelihood that the top scoring student in Japan would be both intelligent and handsome. It didn’t put Light off—he was used to it.

 

Once he was up on the stage, he withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it, and with a brief clearing of his throat, began to read out his speech, his gaze occasionally flicking down to the paper.

 

“As we embark on this new chapter in our lives…” He started, doing his best to make himself sound expressive and interesting. The speech wasn’t anything special, and Light had written it in under an hour. Despite this, the professors seemed to be eating his words up, watching Light eagerly. Once the speech was over, Light walked back to his seat with a gracious smile, happily accepting the generous round of applause.

 

Even when he was sitting again, Light couldn’t stop his eyes from darting around the room, taking in everything he could. He hadn’t attended school with other people in five years—and he was curious to see what people his age were normally like. Most of them weren’t even trying to look interested in the proceedings, and a few were blatantly playing on their phones.

 

It struck Light as incredibly disrespectful, but perhaps this was how people his age generally acted.

 

Once the ceremony was over, everyone filtered out through the main doors. Several throngs of students chattered amongst themselves, and despite catching a few snippets of conversation, Light wasn’t interested enough to pay attention to what they were saying.

 

The To-Oh grounds were pampered and attractive, with cherry blossoms lining the edges of the sidewalks. A few petals drifted through the air, almost mistakable for snowflakes.

 

Light felt a gentle tap on his shoulder, and turned to see who it belonged to.

 

A girl he recognized from the crowd stood before him. She was slender and attractive, with sleek, black hair and a thin face. Her chin was held high, and she offered Light a small bow.

 

“Yagami-san,” She greeted. “I liked your speech. I’m Kiyomi Takada.”

 

Ah. So this was Takada’s brat. Lawliet had told him he might encounter her,

 

“Takada-san.” Light replied mildly, bowing in response. “My stepfather has told me quite a bit about you.”

 

Momentarily, Takada’s eyes narrowed, but she composed herself quickly. “As has mine.” She eyed him cautiously, “From what I hear, you’re on your way to becoming quite the kingpin.”

 

Light ducked his head. “I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”

 

Kiyomi Takada was the daughter of Reiji Takada, a powerful Yakuza boss in Shibuya and Minato. Despite Lawliet mostly sticking to business in Shinjuku, Chiyoda and Sumida, meaning it would be easy enough for him and Lawliet to stay out of each other’s way, Lawliet and Takada still managed to have a rather tempestuous relationship. Takada was hot-blooded and impulsive—attributes which Lawliet didn’t appreciate in a business partner. In the past, their respective syndicates had been allies, but those days had quickly ended once Lawliet rose to power in the Yakuza.

Takada made no secret of the fact that he despised Lawliet. He didn’t like the fact that he was haughty, he didn’t like the fact that he was cunning, and he _especially_ didn’t like the fact that he was foreign.

 

“I hope we can meet up while we’re here,” Takada said briskly, “It was nice talking to you, Yagami-san. I’ll see you around.”

 

Takada disappeared into the crowd with a final wave. Lawliet had told him to remain cordial with Takada’s daughter—lest she get her father involved, since their syndicates hardly needed more reason to dislike each other.

 

With a small sigh, Light sauntered away from the crowd, looking for somewhere to sit down, but before he could move, he looked up, expecting to see Kiyomi, but scowled when he saw who the eyes actually belonged to.

 

“Well, haven’t you gotten tall.” Wedy said with a grin. She looked totally out of place in her tight, leather clothes and dark sunglasses, and had already earned the stares of several bystanders.

 

“I haven’t seen you in a while.”

 

Wedy shrugged. “Our beloved _otou-sama_ sent me on a wild goose chase to China.” She huffed, “I don’t know if you know, but he’s not too happy with me.”

 

Light bristled, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, I _do_ know, actually.” He told her stiffly. “It’s hardly a secret.”

 

Wedy snorted. She tucked her hand into her arm, and Light caught sight of slight discoloration where her finger met her hand. “I’m not surprised. Your stepfather doesn’t care much about privacy. At least, when it suits him, he doesn’t.”

 

Wedy had been held under suspicion a few months back for assisting one of the syndicate’s enemies in America. Although it had never been disproven or proven, Wedy had lost her high ranking, and was sent off to China to do some of Lawliet’s dirty work. Lawliet worked on the assumption that someone was guilty until proven innocent—second chances were too costly to be handed out like candy.

Light didn’t disagree with what his stepfather had done. He’d never quite trusted Wedy—she was infamous for doing anything to meet her own ends--and whilst Wedy had denied the whole thing, it had seemed obvious that she was lying. In Light’s opinion, Lawliet hadn’t been harsh enough in his punishment.

 

“Why are you here?” He asked lowly, taking a step closer to her to ensure that no one could hear.

 

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been reduced to a messenger girl, in case you haven’t heard.” She leaned forward so her mouth was inches away from his ear. “Your father wants to see you. Immediately. And it’s important.”

 

“Can’t he call me?”

 

“You know him. Always paranoid. He thinks everything is tapped. Just do it, Light, I’ll get in trouble too if you don’t come like, _now_.”

 

Light would rather have relaxed that afternoon—considering that he’d been working almost non-stop for the past few weeks. As soon as he’d finished his entrance exams, Wedy’s absence had forced him to take up several of her duties. Lawliet generally assigned him to behind-the-scenes work—his specialty was organizing and planning others’ attacks, but that didn’t mean the work wasn’t draining.

 

He followed Wedy toward the parking lot, where her black Bentley was parked. She winked at him, and fished her keys out of her pocket. Once the car clicked to signify the fact it was unlocked, Wedy moved to climb into the driver’s seat, but before she could Light caught her wrist in a vice-like grip.

His gaze dropped, and he ran the tip of his thumb along her prosthetic index finger.

 

“Nasty,” Light said, tutting.

 

Wedy ripped her arm away and rubbed her wrist. “Fuck off. Get it the passenger’s seat.”

 

Light complied and climbed in after Wedy, waiting for her to start the engine.

 

“I hear your stepfather’s hired someone else to take care of my main duties.” She muttered, tapping her nails against the wheel. It was difficult to make out her expression through the dark sunglasses covering her eyes.

 

“It’s true.” Light replied, “B’s been taking care of things.”

 

If he were honest, Light would rather someone else have taken up Wedy’s position. Wedy, amongst other things, had once been Lawliet’s number one enforcer and right-hand woman (enforcer being a nicer word for hitwoman) and had earned respect throughout the Yakuza for her professionalism and efficiency. After she came under suspicion, Lawliet had given her job to Beyond Birthday—one of his other protégées who Light had known for an unfortunately substantial amount of time.

 

Beyond, like Wedy, got the job done without a trace.

 

Beyond, _unlike_ Wedy, enjoyed the job.

 

B was an utter psychopath. He was a high-functioning, loyal psychopath—but a psychopath nonetheless. He enjoyed playing with his victims before he killed them, and thought of sadistic and cruel ways of disposing of them. Whilst Wedy had always lacked mercy, she didn’t go out of her way to make them suffer, unless she had a personal vendetta.

 

“ _B?_ Has he lost his mind?”

 

“It wasn’t his fault that there was a vacuum because of your idiocy,” Light snapped, suddenly defensive.

 

“Do I have to say this again?” Wedy hissed, “I didn’t _do_ anything. Your daddy’s just being a paranoid shit, like normal. Put your seatbelt on.”

 

“Being a ‘paranoid shit’ is how you remain in control.”

 

Wedy stared at him for a few seconds, before sighing and shaking her head. “You’re a lost cause,” She muttered, jamming the keys into the ignition, the car lurching forward a few seconds later.

 

“Jesus, Wedy,” Light exclaimed, grabbing the arm rest.

 

“Sorry, haven’t driven in a while.”

 

They remained quiet for several minutes, Light leaning his head against the window and staring at the passing pavement.

 

“Can’t you tell me what my stepfather wants to say?” Light asked eventually, his voice quiet.

 

“Can’t. He said he wanted to tell you himself. It’s very specific, apparently.”

 

Wedy’s eyes stayed glued to the road ahead. She looked older than when Light last saw her, and he could see the fine lines of age beginning to set in her skin. He had no idea how old she’d been when he’d first met her, but it was if she’d aged a decade since he’d last seen her.

 

“I don’t know about all the details,” Wedy said after a long pause, “but I think it might be about L.”

 

Light nodded, doing his best to appear as if her words weren’t shocking.

 

L was the nickname of Lavrentiy Lawliet, (since Lavrentiy Lawliet was rather a mouthful—especially to the Japanese tongue) Alexei Lawliet’s only biological son. After Lawliet had sent him to law school in Tokyo, L had testified with a number of others who were former associates of Lawliet in the trial that put half of Lawliet’s _Shatei_ in prison. Immediately, L had vanished, and the whole thing had happened too quickly for anyone to find out where Lavrentiy had gone—and he was admittedly good at covering his tracks.

 

They drew up by Lawliet’s house, and hurried out. Watari let them in immediately, and Light headed straight towards the living room. His hand was already on the doorknob when he noticed that Wedy had hung back.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I don’t think your stepfather wants me there.”

 

Light hesitated, but decided against doing anything else. He didn’t want to go against Lawliet’s wishes.

 

He pushed the door open, and cast his gaze over the sea of worried faces. His stepfather’s was toward the back, sat straight in his seat, a laptop propped open on the desk around him. He looked regal compared to his subordinates—who all looked like feral animals stuffed in human suits. Some of their tattoos crept up around the neck or onto the backs of their hands, teasing what lay beneath the designer clothes and business-like expressions. Kyosuke Higuchi flashed him a particularly carnivorous grimace as he sat down, the veins in his neck popping out.  

Higuchi was Lawliet’s right had man—who had long since taken a personal disliking to Light once he’d realized Light was years away from usurping his position.

 

“I’m sure someone else can take this job, _otou-sama_.” He muttered to Lawliet, eyeing Light warily from the corner of his eye, as if he was an unwanted pest. “Someone more experienced and mature, perhaps…”

 

“Light will do it.” Lawliet said dismissively. He nodded to Light.  “Sit down.”

 

Light obeyed, pulling out a chair and sitting near the edge of the room. “Do you need something, _otou-sama_?”

 

“We think we’ve found Lavrentiy.” Lawliet said flatly, his face impassive. Although he sounded calm; Light could see that his eyes were slightly bloodshot and his chin was colored by a five o’ clock shadow.

 

There was silence, only broken by the sound of Higuchi’s fat lips smacking against his cigar.

 

“I see…” Light mumbled, unsure of what else he could do. L was near untraceable and didn’t look as if he was going to reveal all of the syndicate’s secrets anytime soon, Light had been under the impression that they were leaving L alone. Apparently not.

 

“We’ve been tipped off that L’s working in New York, in the United States, and has been there for a few months apparently. We want you to go get him.” Lawliet cleared his throat, “Or, more specifically, find out what he’s up to and _then_ bring him back.”

 

Light frowned. “Can’t you just send B?”

 

B, who was leaning against the wall behind Lawliet, scowled hideously. He caught Light’s eye, and Light quickly averted his gaze.

 

“No.” Lawliet replied firmly, “B isn’t right for this job.”

 

Although Lawliet generally disliked higher-ups in the yakuza who insisted on ornamental tattoos, he seemed to make an exception for B. B was weedy and pale, but the intricate tattoos snaking around his arms and onto his neck made him look striking. Not attractive—but striking. Unlike the other men in the room, he hadn’t been forced into a Givenchy to cover up his tattoos, and was proudly sporting ancient-looking tracksuit bottoms, mismatched shoes and a polo shirt.

 

“I don’t want Lavrentiy dead.” Lawliet explained. For the first time since Light had met him, he looked mildly flustered. “Yet, at least. Our first choice is to re-recruit him and get information. Although he’s keeping up the façade of being a normal American citizen, there’s been word that he’s been working for some kind of American crime organization. It would be beneficial to get him back on our side—he’s extremely useful.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“That’s what we want to find out.”

 

Light drummed his fingers against the back of his hand, mulling his stepfather’s words over.  “Are you sure you want to send me? I mean—”

 

“I want you to do it.” Lawliet interrupted, his voice teetering on sharp. “I think you’re the best person for the job.”

 

“…You think so?”

 

“Of course. I know you’re intelligent and versatile enough to get the job done, Light-kun.”

 

In reality, Light would have rather stayed where he was. He’d just started university, and part of him wanted to immerse himself in something that wasn’t his stepfather’s business. But, the assignment was important, and Light wasn’t about to turn down an assignment his stepfather thought was especially suited for him.

 

 

“Alright,” Light said, “I’ll do it.”

 

Lawliet’s expression turned from stone to gravel, and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Good.” He said, “I’m sure you understand the vitality of this task.”

 

Light nodded, “I do, but If you don’t mind asking…” Light hesitated, “what do they do? This American group, I mean.”

 

Higuchi, Lawliet, and several other yakuza exchanged glances.

 

“We’re not sure.” Said Namikawa, another one of Lawliet’s trusted bosses.  “Although, we believe they could be behind the murders of many _kyodai_ , _shatei_ , and possibly an _oyabun_ in Kyoto. Not everything is as clear as it could be, though.”

 

“…Are we sure Lawliet is involved?”

 

Tanaka hesitated, “…Pretty sure. Ninety percent sure. Maybe ei—”

 

“In any case,” Lawliet interrupted, “finding Lavrentiy is important. Even if he’s…” his words temporarily teetered off, “…uncooperative.”

 

“When exactly should I go?”

 

“Next week, preferably.” Lawliet replied. “We want to find him sooner rather than later, you understand.”

 

“Is Lavrentiy working under an alias?”

 

“Yes. He’s not an idiot.” Perhaps it was Light’s imagination—but Lawliet sounded somewhat defensive. It was understandable, Light supposed, L _was_ his son.

 

“…Do you know it?”

 

Lawliet scratched the skin behind his ear. “No, I’m afraid. Although, we do know the company he’s working for, which’ll at least give you a starting point.” He sighed, “There’s a lot of work to be done too, Light-kun.”

 

“I understand that. I’ll… I’ll dig around the company’s employee database until I find him, it won’t be too hard.” Light lied.

 

Lawliet looked assured, and Light felt a surge of guilt, because it _would_ be hard. If L had any brains—which it seemed he did—he’d be working in a large company. And if he was going by an alias, Light would have to track through every employee record until he recognized him by face alone. For all Light knew, Lavrentiy could’ve had an entire face transplant, and if he did, Light couldn’t blame him. If he were an enemy of Alexei Lawliet—he’d do anything to hide himself too.

 

Lawliet looked away. “…We’ll give you a photo, and we think that with enough time, you should be able to find him.”

 

“And the name of the company he’s working for?”

 

“Alastor Inc. A publishing firm, apparently. Investigate that too, it could have connections we aren’t aware of.”

 

“I can do that.” Light assured.

 

Light had never been ordered to work in the field before. Lawliet didn’t want to risk it, since Light was one his most valued assets in deduction and strategy, as well as the fact that Lawliet intended him to be oyabun some day. Perhaps he had to this as a test of competence—so Lawliet was sure he was leaving his empire to the right person.

 

Higuchi was still staring at him sourly, no doubt thinking of ways to prevent Light from climbing the ladder any further.

 

Another couple hours were spent making arrangements and backup plans should something go wrong. Lawliet gave Light a number of American contacts he could call should he need something, or to have something done, as well as a fake I.D and a credit card loaded with money. In a matter of hours--Light would be taking to first transcontinental flight of his life, all the way to New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a ridiculous amount of production problems. First, my laptop broke and had to be sent off to be repaired for two weeks, then my computer ate 2 thirds of the first draft. It's actually cut back a lot from the first draft (which was almost 6k) but I shortened it because I would rather fuck myself with a flaming machete than re-write it, and I figured it was pretty boring anyways. Hopefully later chapters will be longer. 
> 
> A few definitions:
> 
>  **Otou-sama** \- 'otou' is the term used for ones father, whilst 'sama' is used in reference to nobilities or gods. In the Yakuza, syndicate members refer to each other with familial terms, since they cut ties with their non-Yakuza family. Heads of syndicates are generally referred to as the 'father' of the crime syndicate/family. 
> 
> **Kyodai** \- The 'big brothers' of the family.
> 
>  **Shatei** \- The 'younger brothers' of the family.


	3. i'm only sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly longer, which I'm happy about. I know the first two chapters were pretty short, but they were just laying foundations. I aim to have most my chapters around this length/more. Sorry for the wait, btw, I was working on something I wrote for ghoulhunt--it's called 'seasons change' and you should read it. Just saying.

 

L had four guns in his possession—three carefully hidden around his apartment, and one in the lining of his coat. Another behind his bed, one in the floorboards in the bathroom and the third stuffed at the bottom of a box of cereal. That way, L was never too far away from a weapon, should one be needed.

 

It was the third gun, in the cereal box, that proved to be a problem.

 

His then girlfriend, Naomi, had been tidying around his kitchen when she found it. L didn’t know quite how, since he’d been at work at the time, but he did know she’d found it at some point or another. Perhaps she’d been tidying and had stumbled across it, L wasn’t sure. The point was—she’d found it, and hadn’t been happy.

 

Maybe she wouldn’t have been so angry if she’d found one of the other ones, those would have seemed much more normal. It was America—for fuck’s sake—people collected guns like stamps.

The gun, she said, wasn’t the reason she’d broken up with him. It was the constant paranoia, the tension, the capriciousness—as well as the obvious anti-sociality. The gun hidden in his cereal box was merely the tipping point.

 

She’d come in the morning—before L could set out. She’d already gotten dressed into her work clothes, and L had felt underdressed in nothing but a towel robe.

 

“I was tidying up your kitchen the other day,” She said, not bothering to greet him. “Ryuga… why do you keep a pistol in your Lucky Charms?”

 

L had stared at her for a few moments, completely unsure of what he should say.

 

She’d sighed, and stepped into his apartment. “What is wrong with you?” Her words hadn’t sounded particularly malicious—just genuinely curious, concerned even.

 

L was still stunned into silence. Six years ago—he’d have been able to spin out a lie effortlessly. Maybe he really had phased into mundanity—He was losing his edge.

 

“…I didn’t know where else to put it.” He said shortly.

 

Naomi had grimaced, shaking her head. Dark strands of hair fell over her eyes, obscuring them from L’s view. “You’re insane.”

 

“Not insane. Prepared.”

 

“What are you prepared for, exactly?”

 

 _Someone knocking on my door and shooting me in the head_ , L had thought. But he couldn’t say that, Naomi would think he really was crazy.

 

“Well… unforeseen events.”

 

Naomi snorted. “ _Unforeseen events_? You work for a book publisher, Ryuga.”

 

“…That’s why it would be unforeseen.”

 

“Ryuga,” She said breathily, as if she’d just run a marathon. “I.. I can’t do this.”

 

And then she’d broken up with him.

 

That had been at seven in the morning—it was eight now, and L was staring at the perfume ad adorning the walls of the subway, still dazed. It was bitingly cold in New York at this time of year, and the weather tinged his cheeks pink and made a shiver run down his spine—even wrapped in as many layers as he was. Normally L didn’t mind the cold—but today it seemed far harsher than normal.

 

L’s first instinct had been to fight to get her back, but a voice nabbed at the back of his head, telling him it was futile. Although she was one of the very few people he cared about, if she hated the paranoia, there was no way of salvaging their relationship. L had spent the past six years glancing over his shoulder, and that wasn’t going to change now.

 

And if something happened to her because of _his_ family, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

 

He checked his watch quickly, the fog over his mind still heavy enough to make it take a few moments to register the fact that he was going to be very, _very_ late. His boss wouldn’t be happy, but L still couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

He’d been with Naomi for six months. That had to have counted for _something_ —it was half the time he’d been in New York. L certainly wasn’t well versed in the whole relationship thing, but _surely_ —

 

L was broken out of his thoughts as the rails rattled and his train stopped. He was jostled onto one of the cars, and was grateful for the familiarity. Back in Russia, the trains crawled along through acres of dense forest at a frighteningly slow pace—and even in the 21st century, it took days to get from city to city. Tokyo had been the opposite—with some of the most efficient and bustling transport in the world.

 

New York fell somewhere in between.

 

L found himself sandwiched between two sweaty, larger bodies, and with a scowl, stuffed his earphones in and closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

“And that is why, I hold the belief that these changes to our Internet advertising methods would bring fast—and effective—results.” L drawled, not bothering to sound interested in what he was saying. “Any questions?”

 

His eyes scanned over the room. Stephen Gevanni put a hand up, and L did his best to internalize his sigh. It wasn’t his fault, the sigh was reflexive.

 

Stephen Gevanni most likely meant well—but L didn’t care. He was stupid, and L wasn’t nice enough to care whether or not slow people were gentle or compassionate. Sometimes, he felt that Gevanni was _trying_ to grate him.

 

“Anyone else have a question?”

 

“Ryuzaki,” Rester, his boss, scolded. “You have to answer his question.”

 

L sighed, and turned to look at Gevanni. “Yes, Stephen?” He asked wearily.

 

Gevanni looked slightly embarrassed, but continued with his question anyway. “I don’t understand how we get these people to do this. If they’re making so little per click—“

 

“More people click than you think. These websites have huge daily traffic. Next question?”

 

No one put their hand up— L was grateful for it. The sight of anyone and everyone was pissing him off today, and the feeling was exemplified as soon as they said or did something that he disliked in any way, shape, or form.

 

L’s Boss—Antony Rester—dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and everyone began to pack their things up. L moved to switch his laptop off and grab his briefcase, but before he could leave the room Rester caught his arm.

 

“Ryuga,” He said, “do you mind if I talk to you for a moment?”

 

Yes, I do. “No, anything you need to tell me?”

 

“Now that everyone’s gone—do you mind taking a seat?” Rester’s ears were tinged pink—as if what he was about to say to L was completely embarrassing.

L complied, hoping desperately he wasn’t about to get fired. Although he hated the job and a good portion of his co-workers, it was a steady and reliable income—and the work was easy enough for him to do in his sleep.

 

Being fired would definitely be the icing on the cake for the shittiest day L had had in the past year.

 

“I’m not going to fire you,” Rester assured, as if he’d just read L’s mind, and a heavy weight lifted from L’s chest.

 

L cleared his throat. “Oh, good. What is it, then?”

 

“I’m not going to fire you—but you were late again this morning, and you didn’t even bother showing up yesterday.” Rester said, as if he were disappointed instead of angry. L’s father had often used the same tone.

 

“I was sick. And I…” L hesitated, “I had some personal things to deal with this morning.”

 

“I know you, Ryuzaki,” Rester continued, “and I know you’re not even trying to improve.”

 

 _No, you don’t at all_. L thought, keeping his face as impassive as possible. “I’ll get here on time.”

 

“Good. Because if you’re late again, I’ll have to let you go. Same goes if you don’t show up without calling in beforehand.” Rester said, “You’re good at what you do. You just don’t think it’s worth giving a shit.”

 

L was about to protest—but he decided against it. Rester wasn’t wrong. The truth was that he’d never really taken the job seriously—he only had it so he could feed himself and pay the rent, and part of him had assumed something would happen before he could.

L hadn’t ever had a job this long, or for that matter, stayed in one place for this long. He rarely stayed in one city for any longer than six months, but had been drawn to New York’s atmosphere. Naomi had been a contributing factor for his staying too—but she wouldn’t be an issue anymore, L thought with a familiar pang in his chest.

 

Perhaps it was time to move on.

 

He could hand in his resignation letter in a few days, pack up anything he needed and get on the first plane to wherever. L wasn’t sure where he’d go, but he liked the idea of Canada. Possibly Toronto—he’d always preferred big cities.

 

Rester lectured him for a few minutes longer, fixing L with a stern look. L didn’t listen to a second of it—too busy contemplating his plans.

Once Rester was finished, and L had told him some crap about ‘aiming higher’—L was let go, and left the meeting room with a departing nod.

 

As soon as he walked through the doors, L almost slammed into Halle Lidner, who was waiting dutifully outside the door for him.

 

“What did he say?” She asked earnestly, her expression worried.

 

L shrugged. “Just that I can’t come in late again. Nothing of great importance.”

 

Halle nodded, but looked unconvinced.

 

Halle was probably the closest L had to a friend—in that he found her conversation tolerable and didn’t actively avoid talking to her. She was nice enough, and wasn’t big on the whole talking-about-feelings thing, which L appreciated. On the whole, he quite liked her company, and he supposed he’d sort of miss her after he was gone.

 

“My girlfriend broke up with me this morning,” He blurted out, regretting the confession as soon as it left his mouth.

 

Halle raised her eyebrows, looking awkward. “Oh. That’s…  a shame. I’m sorry about that.”

 

“It is.”

 

“How long were you two together?”

 

“About six months.” L shrugged, “Give or take.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It isn’t your fault.”

 

They walked in silence, L gripping his briefcase tightly. That and the suit were certainly two things he wouldn’t miss. Maybe next time he’d look from a job where he could work from home.

 

“Do you… do you want to go to a bar or something?” Halle asked after a few minutes of silence. “Too… take your mind off it?”

 

L considered. He’d never been one for alcohol—most of it was too bitter for his taste, and he’d never particularly felt the need to get drunk. He didn’t like how alcohol took the edge off his reason, either, and had always made a point of avoiding the stuff. But now…

 

“Alright.” L checked his watch, “What time should I meet you?”

 

Halle looked surprised that he’d agreed—and stared at him for a few seconds, before snapping out of her silence. “Around ten? Where do you want to go?”

* * *

 

 

Anti-social as he was—L had always been drawn to life. He found the frailty, maliciousness, vibrancy and warmth of humanity to be endlessly fascinating, but he’d never felt the strong urge to partake or contribute, happy to remain as the impartial and objective observer—never experiencing the things about humanity he adored.

Maybe that had been what had brought him to New York. New York wasn’t perfect—the subways often smelled like piss and there was a considerable chance of being mugged at any given time, but above all, it was full of _life_. Bursting at the seams, really, with brutal beauty. L had never loved any other city more.

 

It couldn’t be called beautiful now, if L were to be honest. A few neon lights flickered, reflected by the sheen of rain covering the concrete and illuminating the faces of various passers-by, all in various states of intoxication.

 

L inhaled deeply, in love in with the scent of the cold, damp rain, letting it swim around his head and make him forget about everything else.

 

Halle walked by his side in silence. She was wearing a _dress_ , which L hadn’t thought was possible, with an expensive coat over the top and her lips painted ruby-red. It was odd to see her without her suit. L would never tell her—but she looked nice.

 

“Do you want to do a crawl?” She asked, “Or just go to one place?”

 

L hesitated. “Crawl?”

Maybe it was the dark—but L was sure he saw a glimpse of amusement behind Halle’s eyes. “It’s when you go to a few bars but only have a little at each.” She explained, in mock condescension.

 

“…Oh.”

 

“You don’t go out drinking often, do you?”

 

L smiled weakly. “Is it that obvious?”

 

“Yes. Very much so.”

 

“Well, I’ve never really felt the need.” He sighed, tearing his gaze away and focusing on the sidewalk ahead of him.

 

“Why today?”

 

L snorted. “Isn’t it obvious?”

 

“Naomi?” Halle asked gently.

 

“Naomi was a contributing factor, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s… do a crawl. Why not?”

 

Halle cackled with laughter before they fell back into silence, and L amused himself by listening to the whoops and hollers of the other people in the street, as well as the click of Halle’s boots on the concrete.

 

“We’ll go here first,” Halle said as they drew closer to a bar standing proudly on the street corner, its lights flashing green and blue, pulsating with music and vibrancy.

 

L nodded, and followed her through the doors.

 

The bar was fairly busy—filled with people around his and Halle’s age—maybe younger. Some hung over the bar, chattering and flirting, drinks of varying colors and sizes in their hands.

 

“I’ll get a margarita!” Halle called to the bartender, “And my friend will get a, uhh…”

 

“I’ll get a Bud Light.” L filled in, reciting the only beer he could remember.  

 

The bartender nodded, and filled a glass with the amber liquid, pushing it across the bar. L nodded in thanks.

 

“Do you want to run a tab?” The bartender asked.

 

“It’s alright,” L told him, “We’ll be leaving soon.”

 

The bartender made Halle’s Martini, and Halle dug through her bad for a her purse.

 

“Don’t bother, I’ll pay.” L said, fishing his own wallet out.

 

Halle looked conflicted. “Fine. But I’ll pay in the next place.”

 

They both took swigs from their drinks. L grimaced immediately—he hadn’t expected it to be so bitter. He looked up to see Halle studying carefully over the rim of her glass.  

 

“So,” Halle begun, swirling her drink. “Is there a reason you didn’t drink before today?”

 

“Alcohol is a relaxant. It’s not smart to let your inhibitions down so much.” L explained, his tone flat. “My father shared my opinion on the matter, so we never had any in the house. And I never went to any parties—so I never really developed a taste. It’s not a health thing, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

 

Halle arched an eyebrow, her eyes glinting. “Obviously.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

She eyed him up and down. “You’re hardly a beacon of health, if you don’t mind me saying. I’ve never seen you eating anything other than candy and it’s clear you smoke at least a pack a day.”

 

Ah, familiar American bluntness.

 

L opened his mouth to protest, but decided against it. Halle wasn’t wrong. His face, one which once could’ve once been considered handsome, had been marred and corroded by stress and fatigue. Anxiety had resulted in insomnia, which had resulted in near permanent bags under his eyes.  Years of smoking, coffee and sweets had yellowed his teeth, and left the stench of smoke and acrid, syrupy sweetness clinging to his skin no matter how hard he scrubbed. L had come to accept it—he’d never been very interested in how he looked anyway.

Smoking had been something he picked up in his mid-teens. In a moment of impulsiveness, he’d walked into the nearest corner store and asked for a pack of cigarettes. Amazingly, the cashier had sold them to him, no questions asked. As soon as B had seen one dangling from his fingers, he’d demanded one too, and L had indulged him (which, in retrospect, probably wasn’t a good idea, considering the fact that B was thirteen). B had choked and sputtered almost immediately, but L had inhaled the smoke deeply enough for him to feel it searing his lungs. The habit had stuck.

L didn’t mind that his insides were almost definitely charred and black, because as suicide went, smoking was one of the more socially acceptable methods.

The combination of smoking and a freakishly high metabolism had also left him rake-thin, no matter how much food he ate. There’d been a time when the strenuous exercise he put himself through and the lack of coffee and cigarettes in his life had him teetering on attractive, but those days were gone. L didn’t bother mourning them.

 

“Is it obvious?” L asked, “The smoking, I mean.”

 

“Well, you smell like smoke. It’s not overpowering, no, but if you get close enough it’s clear what it is.”

 

“Huh, well, it makes sense.” L took a swig of his beer, and wiped some of the foam off of his upper lip. The stuff was bitterer than he expected—forcing him to resist the urge to gag. He must have made a face, since Halle grinned as soon as he swallowed. “I’ve smoked since I was fifteen.”

 

“Wow. That’s… did your parents find out?”

 

“My father had the sense of smell of a bloodhound, he figured it out immediately. Didn’t stop me though.”

 

“But he didn’t let you drink?”

 

L shrugged. “He disliked it, but I think I saw smoking as marginally more dignified.”

 

A small smile crept onto Halle’s face. “Deadlier, though.”

 

“True.” L moved to take another sip of his beer, but grit his teeth when the stench filled his nostrils and clouded his head.

 

“Not good?”

 

“I didn’t say that,” L said, grimacing, “it’s just… different.”

 

“You’ll get used to it.”

 

“I’m sure.” L replied, rolling his eyes.

 

A group of college students stumbled through the entrance, howling with laughter amongst themselves, looking far more at ease than L imagined he did. His eyes skimmed over them, wondering if he’d have acted similarly if he stayed in college. He caught one of their eyes, but the boy hastily looked away.

 

“Ryuga?” A voice called, barely penetrating through the  noise. L spun back around, looking back to Halle, whose brows were furrowed.

 

“What?” He asked.

 

“I kept saying your name and you didn’t respond. Distracted by something?”

 

“What? No. Just staring into space.”

 

L’s eyes fell to the drink in his hands, noticing that it was almost gone. With a final swig, he finished the rest, the fire in his stomach starting to be far more appealing than it was at the start.

 

He’d only had one glass, but his head had already started to buzz. It wasn’t unpleasant. Halle had almost finished her margarita, and was starting to look antsy.

 

“Do you want to leave in a minute?” She asked, “…Unless you want to stay.”

 

“No, no. We can leave in a minute. This place is a bit busy for my taste, anyway.” L said, regarding the students pouring in distastefully. They were loud, and their screeching made L blanch.

 

Halle downed the rest of her drink and pushed the glass across the bar. “I think you’re right. Let’s go some place quieter.”

 

She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the thronging crowd, weaving past sweating bodies, swaying to the beat of a generic pop song.

 

L felt far more relaxed once he’d been hit with the cool air, and inhaled deeply. He didn’t realize how stifling the bar had been until he’d left. He must have somehow gotten used to the stench of alcohol and sweating bodies.

 

“How’d you find your first beer?” Halle asked teasingly, nudging L’s shoulder.

 

“Alright. Nice… in a disgusting kind of way.”

 

Halle laughed. “Yeah, you’ll feel that way at first. Then it’ll just start being nice. I still can’t believe you of all people don’t even know what a crawl is.”

 

“I’m actually beginning to think I _have_ heard of it. But only because of some movie… I’ve forgotten the name. But we’re not in England. And there aren’t any aliens.” L said solemnly.

 

“You must be drunk. You’ve even forgotten the name of a movie.”

 

“I’ve only had one drink,” L replied defensively, “my alcohol tolerance isn’t _that_ low.”

 

L dug his hands into his pockets, wondering where Halle would take him next. More and more people had begun to appear in the street, ready to face the night, a few already swaying haphazardly, leaning precariously on their companions.

 

“I’ve been to this place once or twice,” Halle said, gesturing to another bar across the street. “It shouldn’t very busy, from what I’ve seen, if you’d prefer that.”

 

“Yes. I think I would.”

 

In all honesty, L didn’t know how much better he’d actually like it. Although the beer had left him feeling mildly buzzed, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to stomach whatever Halle had planned next. It wasn’t that Halle was a crazy, party animal, but it wasn’t as if L was used to drinking either.

 

They stepped inside, and to L’s relief, saw the place only had a few people dotted around, sitting at tables and speaking in low voices. He and Halle had to be the youngest people there, and they looked rather out of place. L didn’t care though; he’d rather be the youngest there than feel the air was about to suffocate him.

 

“Another beer?” Halle asked.

 

L shrugged. “That’s fine.”

 

They slumped onto some stools next to the bar, and the bartender gave them a greeting nod. He was in his fifties and had salt and pepper hair—a tattoo of a snake wrapped coiled around his forearm.

 

“What can I get you?” He asked. His voice was low and gruff.

 

“Two beers, please.” Halle replied, smiling at him dazzlingly. L had never known Halle Lidner to give people dazzling smiles.

 

The bartender filled two glasses and pushed them forwards. L threw his head back and downed half of it, not even flinching.

 

“You’re already building up your alcohol tolerance, I see.” Halle commented dryly.

 

L shrugged. “It tastes better the second time around. But I want something sweeter at the next place.”

 

“Fine, if you’re willing to pay. Cocktails aren’t cheap. Or do you want a lady drink?”

 

“Alcohol beverages are—by extension—liquids, and therefore do not have genders, Halle. I’ll drink what I want.” L said dismissively.  “And I have money.” He glanced around the beer. From the corner of his eye, he noticed someone come in through the front door. The figure sat down in a seat a few metres away from theirs, muttering something to the bartender.

 

Halle seemed to have noticed him too. “That kid looks like he’s in college,” She muttered, “he brings the average age down a few years, so we’re alright.”

 

L looked up, frowning when he saw who Halle had been referring to. L had seen him in the last place, amidst the group of college students in the last bar.

 

The boy looked away hurriedly, saying something else to the bartender in a hushed, polite voice. L couldn’t tear his eyes away. He looked even more out of place than them—dressed in tight-fitted, fashionable clothes, his features strikingly attractive. He couldn’t have been older than twenty, and he didn’t look like he was trying to be ironic, since he looked vastly uncomfortable and didn’t have any friends with him. Maybe, like L, he appreciated the peace and quiet.

 

“I need to do something,” L murmured to Halle, standing up from his stool. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

 

Before Halle could protest, L scooted down a few seats until he was sitting next to the boy,

 

“Are you following me?” He asked bluntly, his voice loud enough to be heard by the stranger, but quiet enough not to be heard by anyone else.

 

The boy turned to look at him, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not L was joking.

 

“Didn’t you hear me?” L said condescendingly, “Are you following me?”

 

“What…? No?”

 

L nodded. “That’s good. You do look extremely suspicious.”

 

The boy frowned. “Huh?”

 

“Don’t worry, I was being facetious.”

 

The boy continued to look puzzled.

 

“…I was joking.” L said flatly.

 

“Oh.”

 

“I’m pretty sure you’re not stalking me,” L deadpanned, “but I did see you in the last bar I was in. I would say it was a coincidence, but this hardly looks like the kind of place most—by the looks of it—college students would go often.”

 

“It’s probably not.” The boy replied, “But I’m technically not a college student.”

 

L cocked his eyebrow. “You look around the age. And the type.”

 

“Well, yeah. I’m a dropout, actually.”

 

“Really? Why did you drop out?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t really compatible with college life.”

 

“You weren’t? May I ask why?”

 

“Do you seriously think I’d tell that to some guy I met approximately a _minute_ ago?” The boy snapped, turning away. L realized that, yes, perhaps his comment had been crude.

 

“Fair enough.” L looked over his shoulder and met Halle’s eye, who was watching him, seemingly bemused. She walked over, taking the seat next to L.

 

“Chatting up strangers already, Ryuga?” She asked, eyeing the boy. “Who’s this?”

“I have no idea.” L returned. He cocked his head at the boy. “What was your name again?”

 

“…Light.”

 

“Light. Unusual. I’m Ryuga,” He gestured next to him, “this is Halle.”

 

Halle smiled and nodded curtly.

 

“Ryuga?” Light mused, “Is that foreign?”

 

“Yes.” L replied, sounding a little more brusque than he intended.

 

Light studied him for a few seconds. Perhaps it was L’s imagination—but he looked somewhat unconvinced. But before L could be sure, the expression had vanished.

 

“He won’t tell you anything.” Halle said, an amused lilt to her voice. “He’s not normally this friendly, he’s just had a couple of beers.”

 

“What are you talking about?” L objected, “I’m incredibly friendly.”

 

“Of course. Sorry if he’s annoying you, Light.”

 

“Not really, he’s fine.”

 

“Ha! That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me,” L said mournfully, taking a long sip from his drink.

 

“Oh, be quiet.” Halle scolded. She met Light’s eyes, looking apologetic. “His girlfriend dumped him.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s…” Light hesitated, “…a shame.” He looked awkward at the revelation of personal information.

 

“Yeah.” L said shortly. “It is.”

 

“How long were you two together?” Light asked politely.

 

“Six months.”

 

“That’s quite a while.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They were silent; the sound of the quiet chattering of other customers the only noise to be heard.

 

“But there are plenty of fish in the sea, aren’t there, Ryuga?” Halle said, her voice penetrating the noise. She slapped his back reassuringly, but L didn’t feel comforted.

 

L didn’t reply, but something inside of him wanted to shout at Halle that she was wrong. Because there was no one like Naomi.

Naomi had been intelligent, sensible, brave, loyal, attractive, and, most importantly, willing to deal with L’s personality and habits. It was a trait few people possessed—and even fewer possessed after being exposed to him for prolonged periods of time.

 

 _Although_ , a voice nagged at the back of his brain, _even Naomi only had a quota of patience with you_.

 

L ignored the voice, and took another gulp of his beer.

 

“Are you buying a drink?” He asked Light, hiccupping immediately afterwards. “Because if you haven’t got any money, I’m sure Halle will pay.”

 

“I never agreed to that!” Halle protested.

 

“It’s fine… I don’t drink.”

 

“Neither did I. Until tonight.” L said, sighing a little. “I’ve only had a couple of drinks, which makes the way I’m acting very embarrassing. I’m not drunk, really.”

 

“Hmm. At least you’re self aware.”

 

L glanced over to Halle, who grinned in response; a flash of gleaming white teeth shown in wan light.

 

“I think I might want to go home quite soon.” L said, stretching for effect.

 

“What, so you can sleep?” Halle snorted.

 

“Maybe I’m tired.”

 

“Hah, right.” Halle quipped. Light looked confused.

 

Although she evidently had a higher alcohol tolerance than L, both the drinks she’d ordered had a higher alcohol percentage than L’s had. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and she seemed to radiate with more energy than normal. She was generally so professional at work—it was difficult to believe that she had such a playful side to her.

 

L slurped down the remainder of his glass, smacking his lips as he did so.

 

“Halle, you’re paying, right?” He asked, smoothing his hair.

 

“Uh… sure.”

 

“Alright.” L grabbed his bag from under the stool, “I think I’ll go home now.”

 

“But we’ve only been to two places!” Halle protested. “You seemed fine a minute ago.”

 

“What can I say, I’m capricious.” L said. “I’m not used to drinking. I want to quit while I’m ahead and save myself the trouble of getting drunk and by extent—a hangover. You’re right, I’m a lightweight. Goodbye.” L did his best to make sure none of his words were slurred, and probably sounded even stiffer and monotonous than usual in the process.

 

“Wasn’t that the point? Getting drunk, I mean.”

 

“Initially… yes. I’ve since changed my mind. I’ll see you on Monday, Halle.”

 

“What, you’re just going to leave like that?” Halle said, blinking disbelievingly.

 

“What?” L asked, his eyes darting across the room. “Because this place is so riveting?”

 

Halle looked slightly wounded. “You said you wanted to go to some place quieter…”

 

“I’m sorry, Halle. I’m not good a social things. Goodbye.” He did his best not to sound dismissive—but failed. He hoped Halle realized his harshness wasn’t intentional. What he said was genuine; getting drunk was too much of a risk.

 

“I actually need to go too,” Light said, glancing at his watch. He got to his feet, pulling his bag over his shoulder. L spun around and headed toward the door, ignoring Light completely.

 

Once again, he was hit by the icy outside air. He paused and breathed in, tensing his shoulders and collecting his thoughts. When he exhaled, he could smell the remains of his beer lingering on his breath.

L began to make his way down the street, wishing he’d worn a thicker coat. After a few seconds, he could sense someone behind him, their eyes on L’s back.

 

“I thought you weren’t following me.”  L snapped, turning around to meet Light’s eyes.

 

Light’s silhouette shifted in the dark. “I’m not following you,” He said evenly, “My apartment is this way.”

 

“Right.” L averted his gaze, embarrassed. “That makes sense.”

 

“Can I… can I walk with you?” Light sounded amused, “Or would you prefer me to stay behind you?”

 

L stared at him for a few seconds, unsure of what to say. Eventually, his eyes dropped to the floor. “You can,” He muttered, “if you want to.”

 

The street was narrow and near desolate, stinking of garbage and booze. Cars only drove by every few minutes, temporarily illuminating the street in yellow light. Shouts and whoops could be heard from nearby, coupled with the occasional skidding of wheels or the wail of a siren. Neither he nor Light spoke, wordlessly walking side-by-side.

 

L cleared his throat. “So, uh, how long have you lived in New York?” He asked, itching to break the silence. Normally, he would have been content, or even happy to remain quiet, but Light’s presence was almost scrutinizing, and made him feel inadequate, like Light’s disinterest was his failing.

 

“A few months,” Light replied briskly, still keeping his eyes glued ahead of him.

 

L nodded. “Where did you live before that?”

 

“Japan.” Light said with a laugh. His laugh was airy and breathy—and L found it somewhat appealing. “You might have been able to tell from my accent.”

 

He did have an accent—slight, but still there. His voice was smooth as silk, even though he occasionally tripped over his pronunciation.

 

“It’s… not bad.” L reassured. Although his compliment had come out as somewhat awkward and insincere—he really did mean it. L just wasn’t used to giving compliments.

 

“Really?” Light didn’t sound convinced, “I’d never been to an English speaking country before America, so I think you’re just being nice.”

 

“I’m not,” L insisted, “it’s good.”

 

They fell back into quietness, Light’s arms swinging by his sides, a picture of casualness and nonchalance. It was the opposite of how L felt. Not knowing what else to do, he reached into his pocket and groped around for the pack of cigarettes he kept there. He lit one up, casting a brief orange glow over his and Light’s faces.

 

“You smoke?” Light asked. Only his lips were visible in the dark, painted from amber and shadows, illuminated by L’s cigarette.

 

“Obviously.” L said through his teeth.

 

Light was quiet, wordlessly staring ahead. “You didn’t seem like the type,” He said coolly. “I mean, you said you didn’t drink—”

 

“That’s completely different.” L interjected, “Cigarettes don’t affect you mentally, at least in the same way.”

 

“That’s true. Much worse for you, though.”

 

L exhaled, blowing smoke out of his mouth and nostrils. Pearly wisps swirled and evaporated in the air.  “Alcohol hurts you temporarily,” L grinned wolfishly, “smoking plays the long game, and that’s far more interesting.”

 

“My father used to say it would be better if cigarettes killed you straight away,” Light murmured, “then no one would smoke, because if they kill you slowly, everyone thinks they’re the exception.” From the corner of L’s eye, he saw Light smile.“Do you think you’re the exception?”

 

“I don’t think I’m the exception, I know I am.”

 

Light sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m probably being pretty rude. It’s not my place to tell you what’s healthy and unhealthy.”

 

“It’s not secret that smoking’s deadly,” L shrugged, “you’re just articulating the truth. I guess you don’t smoke?”

 

“Hah, no.”

 

“No drinking or smoking? How squeaky clean you are.” L commented wryly.

 

“Mmm. Do you live down this way?”

 

“A couple of blocks away.”

 

“Same with me. What a coincidence.” Light said. “It’s strange I haven’t noticed you before, really.”

 

“How so?”

 

“You’re just memorable,” Light said, the ghost of a smile on his face. “That’s all.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” L asked, letting his grin seep into his voice.

 

“It doesn’t ‘mean’ anything. You’re unusual looking, that’s all.”

 

“Well, I could say the same for you. Although probably not for the same reasons.”

 

Light didn’t reply, looking to the floor. “I’m here.” He said, after a long pause.

 

“What?”

 

“I’m here.” Light repeated. He nodded to one of the nearby streets. “My apartment is down there.”

 

“Oh. Right.”

 

“I’ll…” Light’s words seemed stumped.

 

“See me around?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Yes.”

Light met his eyes fleetingly, and retreated into the neighbouring street, quickly dissolving into the night. L watched him for a few seconds, transfixed, before dropping his cigarette butt on the floor and crushing it with his foot, extinguishing all light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to take credit for 'socially acceptable methods of suicide' because I think it's beautiful, but the wonderful Emily khakisnorge thought of it first. I stole it from her. With permission.


	4. a wolf at the door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the wait. I try, I really do.

****

The drawling of the radio was what first woke Light up, slow and lazy, easing him into consciousness. He opened his eyes tiredly, still groggy from sleep, flicking them toward the source of the noise. He must have fallen asleep with it still on.

 

The light was like honey at this time in the morning, turning Light’s apartment into gold. His apartment was undeniably modest and plainly furnished—but Light had gotten used to it during the month or so he’d been there. Liked it, Even. No one disturbed him, which he wasn’t used to.

 

He didn’t have to work. He didn’t have to go to school. The only thing he had to do was find L.

 

Part of him wished his stepfather hadn’t provided him with all of the money he needed. Finding a job would at least give him something to do; he could think of nothing worse than staying cooped in his apartment all day, with nothing but his thoughts and computers to keep him company. The project (other than L) that Light had settled on was to carpenter the mask of Light Asahi to perfection—and so far—it had been the most convincing persona he’d taken on.

He’d even made Light Asahi and Facebook out of boredom—loaded with fake photographs with fake friends (all manipulated, of course) in case L got curious. He worked on perfecting his English by watching the news and reading books, even having conversations with his reflection when he got _really_ bored.

 

Light pulled off the couch, stretching his muscles and rolling his shoulders. The sounds of New York trickled through the ajar window; the skidding of tires, the incessant beeping. By now, it was almost comforting.

Stifling a yawn, Light made his way into the kitchen, his vision still slightly blurred. He rummaged through the cupboards; searching for the packet of coffee beans he kept there. He groped around, finding nothing.

 

Light frowned. It must have run out.

 

He swore under his breath.

 

 _I don’t need coffee_ , Light told himself, despite the beginnings of a migraine gnawing at the back of his skull. _Certainly not._

 

He trudged through to the bedroom, pulling on a clean shirt and pants. Going out for something as trivial as coffee really didn’t bother him, but wasting away in his nightclothes only made him feel worse. At the very least, this mundane task would give him something to do.

 

Just before he made a grab for his jacket, his phone rang, making Light scowl. He’d rather be left alone—but there was only one kind of person who would call him on _that_ phone—a cheap, disposable one that hadn’t cost more than twenty dollars. Easy to dispose of. Easy to replace.

 

“Hello?” Light answered in Japanese.

 

“Yagami-kun.” A voice cooed from the other line, grating and cruel. Reflexively, Light’s muscles tensed.

 

“B?” Light asked, his features settling into a scowl. “What do _you_ want?”

 

“What makes you think I want anything?”

 

“You always want something.” Light grumbled.

 

B laughed sharply. “Not this time, actually. I had to tell you something, actually. It’s not even bad news.”

 

“What is it then?”

 

“So moody. Is it because it’s early? It’s early night here. I forget what the time difference is, so if I woke you up, I apologize.”

 

“No, you don’t.” Light snapped, “Can’t you get to the point?”

 

“Fine, fine.” B said, his voice unapologetically patronizing. “Look outside.”

 

Grudgingly, Light pulled the blinds open, flinching at the sudden brightness. He stared into the street, not seeing anything different from the normal. “What am I looking at?” He asked.

 

“Do you see a man sitting on the bench across the street?”

 

Light narrowed his eyes, scanning the streets. “What, the homeless guy? With the beard?”

 

“What? No. The other guy.”

 

Light’s eyes moved over the street. There was only one other man sitting on a bench in the street outside. He was tall, bulky, and by the looks of it, South-East Asian. Once in awhile, he looked up at the passers-by from his lap.

 

Light frowned. “That huge guy? What about him?”

 

“His name is Dao. He’s one of our Vietnamese friends.” Light could hear the grin in B’s words.

 

“Alright,” Light said, “I still don’t get where this is going.”

 

“He’s there to protect you.”

 

“Protect me?”

 

“Yes, protect you. Do you need everything spelt out?”

 

Light looked at him closer, taking in Dao’s face. “Come to think of it,” he said, “I thought I might have seen him before.”

 

“Well, that makes sense. He’s been tailing you for a week.”

 

“A week?” Light hissed, “No fucking way, I would’ve—”

 

“Definitely noticed him, don’t get your panties in a twist, dear. He may not look it, but Dao is a very stealthy man.”

 

“What makes you think I need protecting, anyway?”

 

“I know you like to believe you’re tough and independent, but if you’re not safe in Tokyo, the safest major fucking city in the world, you’re not going to be safe from harm in New York. Besides,” B said, “I would’ve though the attention makes you feel important. I know how much you love that.”

 

Light sighed, leaning his head against the cool pane of glass. “I’m not even going to ask how you know exactly where I am.” He muttered.

 

“Silly rabbit. We always know where you are.”

 

Light laughed dryly. “Of course. I forgot. Thanks, B, I guess.”

 

“Anything for you, dearest. And I’m part of the family now, you should be calling me _Onii-san_.”

 

“Hah! As if.”

 

“Why not? It’s what you’re supposed to do.”

 

“And I would, if it were anyone other than you.”

 

“Still as pleasant as ever, Light-kun.”

 

The line was quiet, and for a second, Light thought B had hung up.

 

“Any updates on L?” B asked quietly. All humor seemed to have drained from his voice, leaving coldness in his wake. It was what tended to happen whenever anyone brought up L in front of B.

 

“Not much.” Light muttered, “His life is surprisingly bland.”

 

B didn’t speak, supposedly in thought. Suddenly, he seemed to remember what he wanted to say. “Hey! And don’t forget to dispose of—“

 

Light snapped the phone shut before B could finish, and in a singular fluid motion, snapped the thing in two and tossed it out of the window.

 

He sighed. Light supposed he’d have to add a new cell phone to the list of thing he needed. Keeping phones he used to talk to Yakuza contacts for longer than two or three calls was far too risky—should the phone be tapped or hacked. Although the security Light put into all of his technological equipment was near impenetrable, he could never be too safe.

* * *

 

The grocery store was just around the corner, and once Light was inside, he immediately made a grab for a packet of coffee beans. He planned to buy his coffee and leave, but something from the other side of the shop caught his eye.

 

L stood staring at one of the freezers, his eyes like fishbowls. He wasn’t moving, and for a brief moment Light wondered if he was awake or not.

 

“I beginning to wonder if _you’re_ following _me_.” Light said softly, moving to stand at L’s side.

 

L looked up, looking slightly alarmed for a moment. When he recognized Light, his features slackened. “Oh,” He said, “It’s you again.”

 

Light hadn’t expected L to actually start talking to him out of choice back at that bar—he’d anticipated having to follow him around for a little longer, and had been somewhat taken aback

The first months of searching for L had been a nightmare. As Light had anticipated—it was like finding a needle in a haystack.

 

After four months he’d stumbled on an Alaistor Employee who went by the name of Hideki Ryuga, and fit the profile of Lavrentiy Lawliet perfectly. He was high enough up to receive a decent wage, but not enough to be easily detected.

Finding his address had proven more difficult than Light had anticipated, but after some digging around, he’d been able to find his home address and some other personal information. He’d tried following L a few times, but L was more diligent than expected, so Light lost him in order to avoid being noticed and blowing his cover.

 

There was something oddly thrilling about stalking someone, slinking into the shadows and viewing someone else’s life with the mild interest of someone watching a film. How they spent their time, who they went out with, when they went out—it was all oddly intimate.

This film, it turned out, was surprisingly dull. There were no back-alley deals, no shady contacts, nothing. Just mundane, monotonous daily life.

                                                                                    

“Don’t sound too happy to see me.” Light said, grinning. He’d adopted the same fail-proof charm he utilized whenever he wanted something from someone—but L seemed less susceptible than most.

 

He was smart. Smarter than Light had anticipated.

 

“A bit early to be grocery shopping, isn’t it?” L asked, barely meeting Light’s eyes.

 

“I ran out of coffee. You?”

 

L blinked, still avoiding Light’s eyes. “…I didn’t have much else to do. Thought I’d stock up on candy and cigarettes—you know, the essentials.”

 

“Don’t you have a job or something?”

 

“It’s my day off. Don’t _you_ have a job?” L asked, scowling slightly.

 

To his surprise, Light hadn’t found L’s bluntness grating. He’d never met anyone who hadn’t had the tact to treat him with anything but reverent respect. In a way, it was oddly refreshing.

 

“No.”

 

“Have you ever _had_ a job?” L asked, finally looking up. He seemed tired and impatient, but Light wouldn’t let that deter him from worming his way into L’s life. He hadn’t even orchestrated this encounter; the whole thing was sheer luck, really. Perhaps, Light mused, they were somehow tethered by fate.

 

“Trust fund baby?” L inquired dryly.

 

“You could say that.”

 

L rolled his eyes, but didn’t reply. Tearing his gaze away from Light’s, he pried the freezer open and rummaged through. “They don’t have mint chocolate.” He remarked, suddenly solemn.

 

“You could try the place down the road.” Light suggested.

 

“Can’t be bothered. If you don’t mind my asking, why are you talking to me?”

 

Light shrugged. L’s irritability didn’t bother him. He was very good at distancing himself from other people’s emotions. “I’m just being polite.”

 

“Well, will you stop?”

 

“If you want me to.”

 

“Christ, stop being so nice!”

“Sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize!”

 

“You want me to be curt?” Light raised an eyebrow, “Fine, you seem tired.”

 

“Better. And in answer to your question—I’m always tired.” L said. He opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated and closed the freezer lid instead. “But if I seem more tired than normal, it’s because my ex-girlfriend came to collect her things last night.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Naomi. Right?”

 

“Yeah.” L mumbled, pointedly staring at his feet.

 

“Oh, well, I’m sure it’s her loss.”

 

L scowled at him, and Light pretended not to see.

 

Light held up the packet of coffee beans, crooning like the salesmen from infomercials. “I’m going to pay for this.”

 

“Have fun.”

 

Although L’s words seemed prickly, he didn’t move after Light walked off to pay, staring at him like he was the most interesting thing there. Which, objectively, he was.

 

He looked like a lost child, really, which Light imagined he was. Lawliet had told him Lavrentiy was intelligent, but how could he be? Why would anyone walk out of a life of awaiting power, to live like a lonely, mad, idiot?

 

“For someone who claims to want me to leave him alone,” Light observed, “ _you’re_ not leaving _me_ alone.”

 

“Just being polite,” L said, parroting Light’s earlier words.

 

Light paid for the coffee, and stuffed the packet in his messenger bag. L was still hanging around the front entrance, his nonchalance looking somewhat feigned.

 

“You’re still hanging around, Ryuga, so I presume you have _something_ to say to me.”

 

“Why are you so interested in me?” L demanded, “That’s what I’m curious about.”

 

Light blinked, allowing a slight sneer to ghost his lips. “I’m just making small talk.” He said, “Are you really arrogant enough to think that equates to some kind of wild obsession?”

 

L looked embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant.”

 

“But I do find you interesting, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

It was L’s turn to sneer. “Not so arrogant, then?”

 

“It was arrogant to _assume_. It's the principle, and am I not allowed to find you interesting?”

 

“I get the feeling it’s not for the right reasons.” L said. His eyes seemed to penetrate through Light’s façade and into his skin, making him feel momentarily naked.

 

 _He isn’t wrong._ “That’s not true. But maybe we could discuss it further over a cup of coffee?”

 

“Coffee?”

 

“Yes. I don’t have anything better to do.” Light said, quirking an eyebrow. “And it doesn’t seem like you do either.”

 

“I’ve only just met you.”

 

“I’m offering to make you a cup of coffee, Jesus, not to sleep with you.”

 

L still looked disbelieving, but unsure of what else to do. He’d heard L described as ‘aloof’ and ‘blunt’ by people who’d once known him—so he’d expected someone smooth and charming—not awkward and tactless.

 

“Alright,” L grunted. “Where is it you live?”

 

“Just around the block.”

 

When he’d first come to New York, he’d wandered from hotel to hotel, from apartment to apartment, desperately trying to find a place that felt as personality-less as possible. If there was one thing he couldn’t afford to do—it was get attached.

He’d found an apartment close to L’s out of sheer luck—and stayed there for purposes of convenience.

He wondered if this was what it felt like to be obsessed with someone romantically. For your world to become tunnel vision, to orchestrate ‘accidental’ encounters, to adjust your world to orbit around theirs.

 

He’d been lucky, really, to find L at such a convenient time. His ex-girlfriend had left a vacuum; it would be easy for Light to fill the gap.

 

Light beamed. “Alright, should we go?”

 

* * *

  _ **July, 1999, Tokyo.**_

_“Japan has one of the lowest murder rates in the world,” Lawliet began, in a low, calculated voice. Light jumped, unaware of his presence. Lawliet was good at that—sneaking into places unnoticed._

_Light had been practicing tennis in Lawliet’s tennis court—something he rarely had time to do. He had vigorous training and schooling to go through, and Light appreciated the free time when he actually got it._

_He looked up, blinking at his stepfather._

_“It’s 0.65,” He said quietly. He remembered hearing the statistic somewhere in a book. “And going down every year.” He hit a ball into the wall, and it hit exactly where he’d aimed it._

_It seemed odd to speak about the low crime rate as if it was a good thing. He knew what Lawliet was now—what he did._

_What Light would someday do too._

_“The suicide rate is one of the highest in the world, too.” Lawliet carried on, sounding pensive. “There is a sense of honor ingrained on Japanese society, don’t you think, Light-kun?”_

_“I suppose.”_

_“People would rather die than be ostracized, it seems. In many ways, the Yakuza is antithetical to that.”_

_“How so?”_

_Lawliet shrugged. His suit was slim-cut and immaculate, making Light feel horribly underdressed in his shorts and baggy, sweat-drenched t-shirt. “Koreans and Burakumin are some of the most discriminated groups in Japan.” Lawliet said, “Burakumin—for example—are considered by many to be the lowest social group in Japan, and make up 70% of the Yakuza.”_

_“And your point is?” Light asked curtly._

_Lawliet’s eyes glinted, and it occurred to Light that perhaps he ought to be scared. Lawliet could have him thrown out into the street whenever he chose—or have his rights dissolved—or whatever else he had up his sleeve. Light doubted anyone who crossed him on the wrong day would make the same mistake twice._

_“To many, the Yakuza are some kind of villainous phantom. Crime is so alien to the Japanese that it’s easy for them to think of us as strange and abnormal, but refuse to think why it is. They discriminate against those who don’t conform and are surprised when they retaliate.”_

_“That isn’t just Japan.” Light replied, feeling somewhat defensive. “That’s just how society works.”_

_“Of course not. The West illustrate Somali pirates as brutes, when Europeans overfishing their waters was the reason for their formation. Predominantly black gangs in New York were often founded for protection—since their country offered them none._

_“Organized crime is the neglected child society refuses to take the blame for.  Japan polarizes those who belong and those who don’t. So they kill themselves or they join the Yakuza.”_

_“Is that what you see the Yakuza are?” Light laughed humorlessly, “Bouts of teenage rebellion?”_

_“No.” Lawliet said flatly. “We do what we have to do. We were once a union of the outcasts of society desperate to make ends meet, but look what we’ve become.”_

_“What exactly have the Yakuza ‘become’?”_

_Lawliet sneered. “Trash like the Yamaguchi-gumi. Who are they to call themselves Yakuza? Their leaders are treated like celebrities, and they allow themselves to be monitored by the streets to avoid prison time. They are cowards.”_

_“They sound smart to me.”_

_“Smart?” Lawliet laughed hollowly. “How can you call them ‘smart’? As soon as they step out of line, it’s easy for the police to round them all up and send them to prison.”_

_Light put all of his energy into a powerful serve, slamming the ball into the other side of the court. The ball rolled away and disappeared in the grass. “So you think that taking the Yakuza back underground would make them great again?”_

_“Yes. The Yamaguchi-gumi—they’re not even brave enough to smuggle drugs.”_

_“But they get away their crimes.” Light mumbled._

_“They don’t. The police give the Yakuza the illusion of liberty. They believe orderly crime is better than the underground, bloodier alternative.”_

_“Civilians died when the Yakuza weren’t monitored—they went to war and didn’t care who was in their way.”_

_Lawliet seemed to ignore him, shaking his head like Light was a stupid, naïve idiot._

_Light carried on practicing his serve, and on occasion, Lawliet would give a nod of approval._

_“It’s a psychological game, tennis.” Lawliet mused after a while, his baritone penetrating the quiet. “More so than baseball or soccer. In games like that—you have a team to rely on. But in tennis…”_

_“It relies on one person.” Light finished. He swung his racket over his back. “I think that’s what I always liked about it.”_

_He stared out at the court, nostalgic for the crappy, cheaply made tennis court there had been at his old school. He’d been the best athlete there by miles—part of him liked being around so many inferior people. It reminded him of who he was. How special he’d always been._

_Most of the time, though, it drove him crazy._

_“A professional tennis player isn’t just physically strong,” Light continued, “he has enough mental stamina to remain determined even when his opponent is winning. He’s realistic enough not to get cocky after breaking his opponent. He’s quick-witted enough to plan every move in a matter of seconds.”_

_Lawliet nodded. “Very true. I’ve barely played the game myself, but I admire those who do.”_

_Light served hard enough to make the muscles in his arms burn._

_“Is that what you really think?” Light asked after several minutes. “That the Yakuza need to stay in the underworld?”_

_“It’s where they came from.” Lawliet replied. His voice was inappropriately calm. “And it’s where we belong.”_

* * *

 

Light was all long legs and angular beauty. He seemed to vary from the person L had encountered last night—who seemed comparatively sultry—half-obscured by shadow and an aloof attitude.

 

Now, he seemed cocky, confident, and surprisingly friendly.

 

In daylight, L realized how close Light lived to him. He imagined he’d lost track of how far he’d been walked when slightly intoxicated.

 

Light’s apartment block was surprisingly simple and modest-looking—L had expected something flashier.

 

“I thought you said you were rich.” He said flatly, giving the building a quick one over.

 

“I don’t really care that much. As long as it’s relatively comfortable.”

 

L snorted. “I’d love to have enough money not to care.”

 

Light unlocked his front door, and stepped back to let L walk inside. The first thing L noticed was how uncannily tidy his apartment was—with absolutely no posters, mess or personal belongings. There was a small kitchen, perfectly tidy, and a couple of plain, gray sofas pushed against a wall. Two wooden doors stood on the other side of the room—presumably leading to the bathroom and bedroom.

 

“Have you moved in recently?” L asked, trying to sound as casual as possible..

 

Light blinked. “No. Why?”

 

“No reason.” L looked around, kicking off his shoes, pointedly ignoring Light’s eyes. “It’s very clean in here.”

 

“Is it?”

 

“Very. I’ve forgotten what my apartment floor looks like.”

 

“Believe it or not,” Light said, leaning against the wall, “I’m actually fairly sparing in the things I buy.”

 

L ran his fingers over the empty bookshelves, unsurprised when no dust came away. “Are you going to make that coffee?” He asked after a long pause.

 

Light stared at him lamely for a few seconds, the clock above his head ticking.  “Yeah,” he said eventually, slipping back into the façade. “One minute.”

 

Light deposited a few beans in a glass jar, and went about the steps of making a two cups of coffee in a mechanical, methodical way. L walked to stand next to him, their shoulders brushing. Absently, L noticed the definitive lack of splash marks on the kettle’s sides.

 

Light really seemed to have a lot of time on his hands.

 

“What was your surname again?” L asked, faced, once again, with the unexplainably tense silence L couldn’t shake whenever he was around Light.

 

“Asahi.” Light said quietly, his eyes set on his hands.

 

“Asahi?” L repeated. “Like… the beer?”

 

Light’s face contorted slightly—the closest L had ever seen it to annoyance. “Yes.” He replied shortly.

 

A grin tugged on L’s lips. “In Japanese, the surname is written first. So, your name would be…”

 

“Asahi Light, yes.”

 

Perhaps it was how indignant and embarrassed Light looked, but L burst out laughing. Light looked peeved, but he also looked as if he was trying to stop himself from laughing.

 

“My parents had a sick sense of humor,” Light explained weakly, but L carried on laughing, his thin chest heaving with the effort. He hadn’t laughed that long in a while.

 

“Clearly,” L returning, smiling so much the muscles in his cheeks ached.

 

Light didn’t respond, leaving L to listen to the sound to the kettle whirring. It quaked, and when L looked up, he saw Light was staring at it with a strange kind of determination.

 

“A watched pot never boils.” L commented dryly.

 

Light rolled his eyes. “Do you want something to eat?”

 

“Depends. What do you have?”

 

Light bit his lower lip. “Uh… not that much. I think there’s some bread, some instant ramen… some pasta…”

 

“Anything sweet?” L asked hopefully.

 

“I think I have a few frozen berries in the freezer, but that’s probably—”

 

“They’ll do.”

 

Not waiting for a response, L strode past Light and opened the freezer, shoveling through until he found a packet of mixed berries. He held Light’s gaze as he did so—willing Light to burst at his discourtesy and realize he’d made a horrible mistake letting L into his home.

 

“Impressive.” Light said instead.

 

“I’m a man of many talents.”

 

Droplets of rain had begun to hammer on the window like bullets, their loudness steadily increasing until it was near deafening. Light’s apartment looked far more desolate and small when it wasn’t bathed in sun. The furniture cast wan shadows across the room, making it appear horribly gray and empty.

 

“You have a pretty good view from here,” L said casually, wandering toward the window and pressing a hand against the cool glass.

 

“Yeah,” Light said softly, “it’s one of the things I didn’t mind paying for.”

 

New York looked strangely beautiful like this, cars and taxis crammed into roads, the rain making pedestrians scatter and jog in order to get out of the way. Hunched over commuters ducked under sheltered areas to buy cheap, hot food, stuffing it down their throats before running back into the downpour.

 

“Have you ever seen Time Square when it’s raining?” L asked softly, “I think I prefer it then to when it’s sunny. It looks like a scene from _Blade Runner_.”

 

Light looked bemused. “Is that a band?”

 

L’s head snapped back. “You… you’re kidding, right?”

 

“Kidding? No.”

 

“You’ve seen _Blade Runner_ , right? Or at least heard of it.”

 

“So… it’s a film, I gather. Or a TV show?”

 

L pressed a hand to his temple. “You’re physically hurting me. Ridley Scott?”

 

“I’m not familiar.”

 

“Jesus, it only codified the cyberpunk genre. You’ve really never seen it?”

 

“No.”

 

L shook his head, pressing his forehead into his hands. “You should watch it.”

 

“I’ve never had the patience for films.” Light shrugged, “I can’t be bothered to sit down for two hours to watch something.”

 

“Don’t you find the story interesting?”

 

“…Not really. On the whole they’re pretty unrealistic.”

 

“Not all of them.”

 

“Name one film that’s completely realistic.” The kettle finished whirring, and Light filled the cafetiere. “Do you want milk and sugar?”

 

“I can add my own sugar.” L said, dismissive. “You can’t have watched many films.”

 

“Well, I guess that’s true.” Light said, “I never really had time as a kid—or a teenager.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Light shrugged, pouring out two cups of steaming coffee. “I was always busy studying.”

 

L raised his eyebrows.

 

“Don’t look that surprised,” Light muttered, “Not liking college was nothing to do with my intelligence.”

 

“I didn’t—”

 

“But you thought it.” Light said shortly, his eyebrows knit together.

 

“I’m not doubting your intelligence.” L reached over and wrapped his fingers around the mug Light had left on the counter. It seared his fingers, but L ignored the pain, and blew on the cup. “As I said, you speak very good English considering you’ve never lived in an English-speaking country before. I didn’t think you were stupid for one moment.”

 

Light snorted. “Yeah, right.”

 

“I mean it.” L insisted, “I’m not trying to patronize you, if that’s what you think.”

 

“I never said that. What about you?” Light looked up from his cup, his head cocked. “Don’t you speak any other languages? ‘Ryuga’ doesn’t sound very American.”

 

“Barely,” L laughed. “Only a few words of Japanese. My mother was half Japanese, but she never bothered teaching me.”

 

That was partially true. L’s mother had never talked about the Japanese side of her family, and had spoken to him and his father exclusively in Russian or English.

L had picked up Japanese when he was young, no one had ever taught him, it had just come naturally. As he grew up, he found that being trilingual before he was seven made languages come easily to him—and had begged his father to let him get tutors in Korean and Mandarin, swearing they’d come in useful. After he’d left home, he’d taught himself German, Spanish and French just to pass the time, and distract himself from the skeletons stuffed in his closet.

He set himself the task of learning a new language every year—immersing himself in its media, muttering things to himself in said language, and mentally translating lines from his favorite books and films when he was bored.

He supposed Russian was technically his first language, although he hadn’t spoken it in years, and remembered nothing of his time living there. He’d only ever really spoken it to his father—and only when they were alone.

 

As he got older, the words were slipping away from him. L wasn’t averse to it.

 

“Like what?” Light asked curiously. His frown had vanished.

 

“Uh… _arigato_?”

 

“Right.”

 

“ _Konichiwa_ …”

 

“Yes…”

 

“… _Hentai_.”

 

“…Okay. I believe you.” Light laughed, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Depends on the question.”

 

“Why was it you dropped out of college?”

 

Light hesitated, looking reluctant to answer the question. L was about to open his mouth to apologize, but Light cut him off. “I don’t know.” He said, “Maybe it was having to be independent for the first time in my life. Maybe it was the people, or the professors. Probably a combination of the three.”

 

“Oh.” L said, doing his best to mask his disappointment. Part of him had expected some thrilling tale of betrayal and scandal. He wasn’t sure why. “Do you think you’ll go back?” He asked.

 

Light’s mouth twitched. “Maybe eventually.”

 

“So you weren’t fleeing a gang of murderous thieves who forced you to go into hiding?”

 

Light snorted. “You watch too many movies.”

 

L slurped his coffee and smacked his lips, grinning at Light’s disgust. “Maybe you should try getting a job in the meantime.”

 

“That might be a good idea.” Light mused, “I’ve been pretty bored lately.”

 

“I think it would be interesting to see you waiting on tables.” L said teasingly, unable to resist the image of someone as regal-looking as Light serving people food and drinks.

 

“How so?”

 

“You’re so…” L gestured vaguely, “…you know.”

 

“Not really, no.”

 

“…Princely.”

 

“ _Princely?_ ” Light laughed. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

 

“You can decide.”

 

“I think it’s an insult. Are you saying I’m snooty?”

 

“Well, you are snooty, but that wasn’t what I meant.”

 

“Who said I’d be a waiter?”

 

“But you’re too nice to be a rentboy.”

 

“Hilarious.”

 

“I’m sure you’d do very well.”

 

“Fine, fine. I’ll work as a waiter.”

 

“It was just a suggestion,” L said, shrugging. “You’re rich, apparently.” L dug through his pockets, fishing out his packet of Malboro 100s. It occurred to him that perhaps Light wouldn’t want him to smoke inside, so he murmured a weak request.

 

“Fine.” Light replied, “But at least do it out the window.”

 

“But it’s _raining_.” L complained.

 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

 

With a scowl, L pushed himself off the counter and unlatched the window. The air was damp and cool, and the occasional droplet of rain spat in his face. The window wasn’t high up, and forced L to hunch his back in order to lean out. He stuck a cigarette into his mouth, lit it, and breathed in deeply. He exhaled, feeling the smoke sweep over the skin under his nose.

He could feel Light’s eyes on his back again. It was scrutinizing and suspicious, even if Light’s actions and words said otherwise.

 

“Thanks for the coffee.”

 

“It’s alright.”

 

The thought that Light was dangerous or untrustworthy danced at the back of L’s mind for a second, momentarily seducing him. If Light was an insane, Patrick Bateman-type, L had fallen directly into his trap. He quickly pushed the thought aside. Naomi was always telling him that the world wasn’t actually out to get him.

 

“I hope you’re not a serial killer.” L said solemnly, his voice deadened by the traffic noises now pouring in through the window.  

 

“I’m not,” Light assured, and L could hear the smile in his voice.

 

“I’ll take your word for it.” L said, “But I think you being a psychopath would make a lot of sense. You’re very clean and well dressed. You know who else was clean and well dressed? Patrick Bateman.”

 

“As I said earlier—I don’t have that much stuff.” Light said with a small shrug of his shoulders. L could hear him rearranging a few pots and pans behind him, apparently unaffected by L’s sarcasm. “If you think I’m a serial killer, you’re welcome to leave, I won’t try to stop you.”

 

L flicked his cigarette out of the window, turned around, and leaned against the windowpane, letting the cool glass press into his skin through his shirt.

 

“Do you think _I’m_ an axe-murderer?” He asked.

 

“No.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Do you _want_ me to think you are?”

 

“I don’t _want_ you to think I am,” L said, “I’m just curious as to why you don’t.”

 

“I don’t assume everyone is an axe-murderer. I don’t see what’s so strange about that.”

 

“You don’t? I do.”

 

Light looked up from the counter, looking like he was doing his best to scrutinize L. “Well,” He said, “that can’t be healthy, can it?”

 

“I’m hardly a beacon of any kind of health—if you hadn’t noticed.”

 

Light surveyed him for a second, his face impassive. “You’re very strange.” He said finally.

 

“I get that a lot.”

 

“For good reason.”

 

“Does it bother you?”

 

“Not really.”

 

 

“Hmm. Don’t speak too soon.”

 

On the surface, L’s strangeness might seem endearingly eccentric. But L wasn’t just _eccentric_ , he was necessarily dishonest, and pathologically paranoid. Besides, his bluntness quickly got grating, and after a while people got tired of him. L didn’t care—most people were stupid anyway and he was absolutely fine being on his own.

 

Light caught his eye, and for a second, he seemed to understand. He seemed to know why L was running—why he had to push people away, and L felt slightly less alone. But after that fleeting second, it vanished.

 

“You know,” Light said, “before I dropped out of college, I was majoring in psychology.”

 

“You were?”

 

“Yeah. You can guess how that went.” Light hoisted himself onto the counter, leaning against the wall.

 

“It’s a shame. I think you would have made a good psychologist.”

 

“Really? How so?” Light asked, “I didn’t think I was objective enough for the job.”

 

“You’re very good at making people talk, though. ” L said, eyeing him from across the room. “I feel like if I’m not careful, you’ll find out everything about me.”

 

“Couldn’t have that.” Light quipped, his eyes glinting in the weak, gray light.

 

“No,” L said, “certainly not.”

 

“I found certain aspects interesting—the criminology and suchlike. It was all the Freudian, everyone-wants-to-fuck-their-mother bullshit that got a little exhausting.”

 

“I can see why. What did you like about criminology?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the motivations?”

 

“Maybe you could’ve been a detective. I can see it now,” L waved his hands by his head, “’Light Asahi! He’s named after a beer and he fights crime!”

Light chuckled, but something behind his eyes flashed. “I don’t think I’d ever become a detective.” He said.

 

“Maybe not. Perhaps a psycho-therapist?”

 

“I couldn’t focus on other people that long,” Light said, “besides, you don’t have to be a psycho-therapist for getting people to talk to be a useful skill.”

 

“That’s true. Interrogator. Lawyer. Journalist.”

 

“Journalists,” Light snorted, “from an ex-psychology major’s standpoint, they don’t get anymore psychopathic.”

 

“What about lawyers?”

 

“Those too. I can’t stand lawyers.”

 

L opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Light’s mouth was open and gaping.

 

“Jesus Christ!” He exclaimed, clamping his hand over his mouth. “Your nose—“

                   

L dabbed at his nose, the stench of something warm and metallic-smelling filling his nostrils. “Yep,” He said, unsurprised, “that happens.”

 

“Shouldn’t you go to a doctor?”

 

“A doctor? I’m not _dying_ , Light.”

 

“You will be soon if you’re not careful.”

 

“Do you have any tissue?” L asked, quickly changing the subject. He pressed the pads of his fingers into the skin at the top of his nose, leaning his head back against the wall.  

 

“Oh, sure. One minute.”

 

Light rummaged through his drawers, and tossed a roll of tissue paper to L, who caught it gratefully.

 

“This… this seriously happens often? And you aren’t concerned?”

 

“Jesus, Light, not that often. The smoke just dries up my throat and I get chest infections once in awhile, it’s nothing.”

 

“Nothing?” Light repeated, apparently unconvinced. He hovered a few feet away from L, his hands stretched out awkwardly, looking like he wanted to help.   

 

L batted his hands away, pressing the tissue to his nose.

 

“I probably haven’t made the best first impression.” L said mournfully.

 

Light stared at him for a second, his eyes widened, and threw his head back and laughed.

 


	5. run for your life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is why it's got a high rating.

****

Mello had never been physically closer to Matt in his life—and he would have much preferred it to be under different circumstances. He was currently crammed between Matt and the cool pane of the car window, leaning his head against the glass, wishing he were anywhere else. They were driving over increasingly rough terrain, which gave Mello a migraine.

 

B was warbling along to the radio; tapping the wheel to the beat of John Lennon’s voice. He was even swinging his head in time to the beat, earning him dark looks from passing drivers.

 

“Will you stop that?” Mello hissed. Matt shifted from next to him, earning Mello a strong whiff of his axe body spray.

 

“You know you love it. _Rubber Soul_ is a classic!” B protested, turning the music up louder and grinning at the rear mirror. Mello turned away, catching a glimpse of his scowling reflection in the car window.

 

B hooted in delight as the opening chords of ‘ _Run For Your Life_ ’ began to play, cheerfully singing along. Although it was grating, Mello wasn’t stupid enough to challenge him too much; he’d heard enough horror stories about the people who were suicidal enough to try that.

 

“For someone who was so about peace and love,” Matt muttered, pulling out one of his earphones, “John Lennon’s lyrics sounds suspiciously like a serial killer’s.”

 

B shrugged, swerving the car out of the way of an oncoming motorbike, making both Matt and Mello jump out of their seats. “Still a genius.” He said, dismissive.

 

Mello was beginning to seriously doubt B had his license—after they narrowly avoided hitting yet another cyclist. The cyclist swore colorfully at B, who flipped him the bird and continued driving. His car was ancient and falling to pieces; even the passenger’s seat was mysteriously missing, forcing Matt and Mello to be stuffed into the backseat. The car swung onto a thin, run-down residential road, jolting and shaking as it moved over the uneven, cracked cement.

 

“We’re here!” B said happily. The car came to an uneasy halt, just outside a row of crooked housing.

 

“What if this guy’s not here?” Mello asked, stretching his cramped lips after pulling himself out of the back seat.

 

“Then we’ll wait.”

 

“What if he never comes back?”

 

“He will.” B insisted. His scanned the empty pavement, before nodding for Mello and Matt to follow him.  He slipped his hand into his pocket, and Mello could tell from the way the tendons in his hand shifted that he was stroking the barrel of something hard—doubtlessly a hand gun.

 

B knocked twice on the door, a few flakes of paint falling as he did so.

 

They waited a few seconds, but no reply came.

 

B knocked again, more sharply this time—still to no avail. He turned around and grimaced at Mello.

 

“I guess I’ll have to be pragmatic.” He shrugged, pulling his jacket off and throwing it at Mello.

 

Before Mello could respond, B grit his teeth and slammed the entire side of his body into the door, once, twice—the wood eventually shattering. A cloud of dust shot out, making Matt and Mello cough.

 

“I don’t know, B.” Matt said, “It doesn’t look like they’re here.”

 

“They’re here,” B said evenly. “And how many fucking times do I have to ask you to call me _Onii-san_ now? I didn’t lose two of my fingers—” B waved his hand to punctuate the point, “For you to show me that kind of disrespect.”

 

“Alright, alright. I get it.” Matt said, putting his hands up in defeat.

 

“Ha! That doesn’t sound very respectful to me.”

 

“I—I’m sorry.” Matt stammered.

 

“You’re sorry what?”

 

“Sorry, _Onii-san_.” Matt looked as sincere as if someone were holding a gun to head and forcing him to say the words—which wasn’t too far from the truth—but B seemed satisfied. He redirected his attention back to the door, and after dusting off his jacket, stepped inside.

 

Mello stepped in after Matt had done the same, forced to squint through the darkness. Although only vague impressions of furniture were visible—Mello could tell the place looked like a bombsite. Any hope they had of stealth was obliterated by the sounds of cans and bottles being crushed under their feet as they walked, as well as the quiet complaints Matt was murmuring under his breath.

 

“Oi, Akiyama-san!” B shouted. “Where the fuck are you? I can’t see shit when it’s so fucking dark!”

 

There was no response, but the floorboards from across the room creaked.

 

“Akiyama-san!” B called again.

 

The floorboards creaked again, but this time, a rough voice responded. “What do you want?”

 

“I’d like you to switch the fucking lights on, that’s what I want.” B said coldly.

 

There was a short grunt, and a lamp flickered to life, illuminating the room in a pale yellow glow. The light revealed a bulky, tattooed man in his mid-thirties, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. When he opened his mouth to speak, Mello could see a row of crooked, brown teeth. Around them, Mello saw the true extent of the mess. Empty McDonald’s and Big Kahuna Burger wrappers lay scattered on the floor, presumably half-eaten, since the place stunk of rotting meat.

 

“Why you got the lights off, _Nii-san_?” B asked, smirking playfully.

 

“I just got in.”

 

“Huh. Well it’s fucking disgusting in here, do you ever clean?”

 

Akiyama shrugged, eyeing the hand plunged in B’s pocket.  

 

“Do you mind telling where your friends are?” B asked, his tone cordial.

 

“My friends?” Akiyama repeated.

 

“Yeah, your friends. Or your not-friends—whatever. Your acquaintances. Your _colleagues_.”

 

Akiyama hesitated, his gaze falling to the floor. “They’re not here.” He muttered.

 

“They’re not? Where the fuck are they, then?”

 

“They’re…”

“They’re where?”

 

“…They’re in the garden.” Akiyama finished, looking rather defeated. His gaze was trained somewhere on the floor, making his discomfort obvious.

 

“In the garden? On a day like this?” B ducked his head out the window, grimacing at the stretching gray skies. “Are they insane?”

 

“It got hot in here.”

 

B laughed dryly. “Right. Can I meet them?”

 

Akiyama stared at B cautiously for a few seconds, but wordlessly peeled himself off the wall, and began to lead them through the back of the house. Although he looked impassive, Mello noticed his hands shaking at his sides.

 

“Who are they?” Akiyama asked flatly, his back still to them.

 

“Who?” B waved a stump of a finger at Matt and Mello, “Those two? They’re nobody.”

 

“Then why are they here?”

 

“They’re here because I fucking brought them here, alright? Isn’t that reason enough?”

 

“Yes—yes. Of course.” Akiyama stuttered, quickly looking away.

 

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

 

Akiyama lead them through to what looked to be a conservatory—although the glass was shattered in multiple places and covered in a layer of grime thick enough to make it near opaque.  

Akiyama pushed the door open, a yard completely overrun with overgrown grass and scattered trash. Three men sat in flimsy patio chairs by the door, their eyes immediately widening. One looked younger than Mello.

 

“These your guys, _Nii-san_?” B asked with a grin. “They just get younger and younger.”

 

At that, Akiyama flashed a toothy, yellow grin. “Gotta whip ‘em into shape young, y’know?”

 

B chuckled, but his eyes were humorless and hard. “Right. So… you’ve got my stuff, yeah?”

 

“Yes. Like we promised.”

 

“Alright.” B crossed his arms. “Where?”

 

“Depends,” A disembodied voice said, making Mello spin around. The voice had come from the boy who looked to be in his teens. His eyes were red and bloodshot. a cigarette dangling from between his lips. He was thin, unhealthily so, making the skin under his eyes sag. A few tattoos decorated his arm and collar, a few still pink from the needle. “Do you have the money?”

 

“Maki-kun,” Akiyama warned.

 

“No! That’s just fair fucking business, alright? You give us the money, and we give you the stuff.”

 

B’s eyes flashed. The woman tattooed on his forearm shifted as his muscled tensed.

 

“Alright.” He said shortly. “Matt?”

Matt rolled his eyes, swinging the messenger bag off his shoulders and tossing it at B’s feet. B picked it up, emptying the contents onto the floor despite Matt’s protests, and rummaged through them until he found two large wads of cash.

 

B dangled them in front of Akiyama’s face. “This enough for you?”

 

Yamamoto eyed the cash and moved to take it from B. Before he could, B snatched it away and stuffed it into his pocket.

 

“Not yet,” B crooned. “The stuff first, thanks.”

 

Yamamoto scowled, but stared pointedly at the third guy, who was watching the scene nervously.

 

“I—I’ll show it to you.” He stammered.

 

“Good. Kita?”

 

The third guy—presumably Kita—nodded quickly stumbled through the grass, pushing the hip-high blades aside with his hand.

 

“You stay here,” Mello heard B murmur to Matt, “if the other one tries anything funny, make sure he doesn’t do it twice.”

 

Matt nodded stiffly, clearly attempting to look as calm as possible, despite his tense posture giving it away.”

 

Mello pushed through the grass after B and Kita, occasionally stepping on a shard of glass or an empty can.

 

“It’s buried in the back,” Kita explained, “we thought it would be safest there.”

 

“Buried? You’re cautious.”

 

“You can’t be too careful.”

 

“Damn right.” B grinned. “How deep is it?”

 

“A couple feet.”

 

“Alright. You have a shovel, right? Are you going to start digging?”

 

The man scowled. “Not right now.”

 

“Huh? Why not?”

 

The man’s eyes flickered and the corner of his mouth twitched—and that was his mistake. The gunshot made Mello jump and his ears ring. He screwed his eyes shut. When they opened, Kita’s body was slumped across the concrete, a pool of crimson growing around his head, filling the air with a thick, metallic stench.

 

Mello stood frozen in shock, his breathing heavily.

 

B walked leisurely back through the grass, twirling his gun in his hands.  

 

Yamamoto and Akiyama stood, their mouths wide and gaping. Akiyama’s hand shook over the gun hanging from his belt, but the second gunshot had wrung before he could so much as touch it. His knees buckled, and he fell in front of Mello’s feet.

 

“Ugh. I hate that noise.” B said with a wince.

 

Yamamoto stared, his eyes completely round, watching as B pointed his gun at his forehead.

 

“I didn’t do anything!” He insisted, putting his hands in the air, “I swear!”

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t kill you.” B grinned. He pointed the gun downwards, and shot Yamamoto in the knee.

 

Yamamoto howled in pain, falling to his knees and grabbing the wound.  

 

“Are you insane?” Mello growled, “Someone will call the police if they heard gunshots, fucking Christ!”

 

“I thought you knew better than to use the Lord’s name in vain, Mello. And don’t get your leather thong in a twist, Yamamoto-kun isn’t going anywhere, are you?”

 

Yamamoto responded with another cry of pain, desperately attempting to stop the profuse bleeding from his knee.

 

“Fuck, will you be quiet?” B hissed. He stalked over to Yamamoto, and stuffed the heel of his boot into his mouth. “It’s not a problem. We’ll take him back to your apartment, Matt.”

“Why mine?” Matt whined, “That’s not fair!”

 

“Because you’re the nearest. And your apartment’s on the ground floor. I don’t want to lug someone up twenty flights of stairs.”

 

Yamamoto writhed furiously, attempting to dislodge B’s boot from his mouth.

 

B made a face. “Yuck. Can we hurry up?”

 

Mello pulled off his jacket, and tied it around Yamamoto’s face for a makeshift gag. With Mello’s help, he heaved Yamamoto over his shoulder, who pounded angrily into his back in futile protestation.

 

“Fuck, this kid’s light.” Matt muttered.

 

“That’s what years of cigarettes and meth will do to you. Isn’t that right, Yamamoto-kun?” B said, playfully smacking Yamamoto on the shoulder.

 

Yamamoto screamed something unintelligible into Matt’s back.

 

Fortunately, the street outside was completely empty, besides a few parked cars and one skinny, miserable-looking cat basking on the wall from across from them. Yamamoto was still making tortured, terrified noises, making B groan in annoyance. Once they were outside the car, Matt tossed Yamamoto into the back seat, and the three of them stood to survey him for a moment.

 

“I didn’t want to do this, but you’re going to need to shut the fuck up, Yamamoto-kun.” B said seriously. Before the words even registered on Yamamoto’s face, B had reached forward, grabbed Yamamoto by the hair, and slammed his head into the back of the front seat. There was a loud cracking noise, and the teenager flopped back onto the seat, suddenly still.

 

“Shit,” Mello hissed, “he isn’t dead, is he, B?”

 

“What? Obviously not.” B snapped, but sounded unconvinced.

 

Matt leaned forward, pressing his fingers into the crevice under Yamamoto’s jawline. “Yeah,” He said, sighing with relief. “He’s fine. What should we do now?”

 

“Put him in the trunk.” B ordered.

 

Matt and Mello obeyed, dragging Yamamoto’s limp body out of the backseat and throwing it into the trunk.

 

“There.” Matt said shortly, “Can we go now?”

 

“Fine, fine.” B hopped into the front seat, whistling as he did so. He immediately turned the radio on, and the upbeat sound of the Beatles roared to life. He jammed the keys into the ignition, making the engine rear to life. Not wasting a second, he swerved out of the parking space and onto the main road.

 

“There,” He said, having to shout over the music. “Wasn’t too difficult, was it?”

 

Mello didn’t reply. He was too busy picturing the sight of streaks of crimson against the patio, Akiyama and Kita’s bodies splayed like a puppets with all their strings cut.

 

None of them spoke for the beginning of the journey, aside from B’s normal warbling along to the stereo.

 

“Did you have to kill both of them?” Mello asked after awhile, his voice hoarse.

 

B sighed heavily, tapping the driving wheel with his nails. “Yes. They were clearly hiding something.”

“You don’t know—”

 

“Yes,” B interrupted, “I do. Does anyone want to stop for food? I’m fucking starving.”

 

Both Matt and Mello shook their heads, pointedly avoiding B’s—and each other’s—gazes.

 

“Fine,” B grumbled, “I guess I’ll wait. Wouldn’t want to be the only one eating.”

 

They were driving across the highway now, and the sun had begun to set. The road was surprisingly clear, with a car only speeding past once in a while.

 

“Huh. It’s so quiet. Seems like God’s on our side.”

 

“Can’t imagine what we’ve done to deserve it.” Matt huffed, staring out of the window.

 

B ignored him, driving onto a narrow road, still moving at a pace that was clearly above the limit.

 

After a few more minutes, a police siren wailed from behind them with an accompanying flash of blue lights. Mello buried his head in his hands, and B murmured a faint ‘shit’ under his breath.

 

“Are you going to…?” Matt asked shakily.

 

“Yes.” B muttered back, “The last thing we need is the police on our tail.”

 

B pulled over, the car coming to a slow halt.

 

“Be quiet. I mean it.” He hissed, just before the policeman came into view. B rolled the window down, running a hand through his hair wearily.

 

“Good evening, officer.” B said, his white teeth flashing in the dim light. “Is there a problem?”

 

The policeman nodded, hunching over to look through the window. “Can I see your license?” He asked.

 

“Oh, definitely.” B rummaged through his pockets, withdrawing a small card from one. “Here.”

 

The policeman frowned at the card, his eyes scanning over it. He handed it back to Beyond wordlessly, who nodded gratefully.

 

“Rue Ryuzaki,” He muttered. “That’s Japanese?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You don’t look Japanese.”

 

B put his hands up in defeat. “What can I say? I look like my mom. She was Colombian, see.”

 

The policeman raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push further. “Were you aware how loud your music was playing, Ryuzaki-san?”

“It was playing loudly?” B asked, feigning innocence.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Damn, I didn’t realize.” B simpered, “I won’t do it again.”

 

The policeman continued scribbling on his notepad. “Alright, Ryuzaki-san. Since you have your license and you promise not to do it again, I’ll let you off the hook this time.”

 

“Thank you, officer.”

 

The policeman stuffed his notebook back into his pocket, looking ready to leave. Mello was ready to release the breath he’d been holding, but before he could, a large ‘thump’ sounded from the trunk.

 

Mello felt the muscles in Matt’s arm tense.

 

The policeman froze, turning around to stare at the car again. “Was that from your car?” He asked coldly.

 

B smiled sheepishly, looking as if he’d just been caught stealing a cookie from the jar. “My friend Matt,” He nodded to Matt, “He just dropped his bag. That’s it.”

 

“Must be a heavy bag.” The policeman said, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Yeah, well. It’s full of bibles.”

 

“Bibles?”

 

“Yes. He’s American, see. You know how Americans are.”

 

The policeman narrowed his eyes, flicking them to look at Matt. Matt smiled gingerly, shrugging his shoulders in an awkward attempt at casualness.

 

“I’ll show you the bag,” B said suddenly, “if you want.”

 

Mello glared daggers into the back of B’s neck, ready to ring the lanky bastard’s skinny neck.

 

The policeman blinked, looking unsure. “That won’t be necessary.” He said eventually.

 

B beamed. “Alright. Thank you, officer.”

 

The policeman strode off, disappearing from view and jumping back into his car. Mello exhaled, his still heart pounding.

 

“God.” He said shakily.

 

“Well,” B said, “that went well.”

 

“Fuck. Let’s go, B. Why did you could say he could look through it?”

 

“Confidence,” B said happily, “confidence is key.”

 

“Whatever. Let’s just go.”

 

B complied, revving up the engine and driving back onto the road.

 

They spent the rest of the drive in silence. Even B didn’t turn the stereo on.

 

* * *

By the time the three of them had crammed themselves into Matt’s apartment, Yamamoto was beginning to stir and squirm. Matt and Mello deposited him on the floor, waiting for B to give them further instructions.

B had been uncharacteristically silent since the incident with the policeman, seeming to retreat into himself and become pensive.

 

They stood around Yamamoto, watching him writhe on the carpet, their arms crossed over their chests.

 

“Ungag him.” B ordered, crouching down to Yamamoto’s level.

 

With a breathy sigh, Matt pulled the slobber-covered jacket out of Yamamoto’s mouth and tossed it to the side. Yamamoto sputtered and coughed, rolling over onto his back.  

 

“Wha… what the fuck…” he wheezed. “I thought we…”

 

“Were partners? Well, I thought that too, Yamamoto-kun.” B kicked Yamamoto in the gut, earning him a pained groan. The kick hadn’t been that hard—but Mello knew B was just warming up.

 

“I didn’t do anything…!” Yamamoto insisted, “I swear to God!”

 

“I don’t believe you. I knew you were suspicious from the beginning—your whole group. I don’t trust drug dealers.”

 

“Then why make deals with us? If you think you’re so much better.”

 

B laughed bitterly, before swiftly punching Yamamoto in the jaw. “Because I’m not in charge.” He hissed, “I just do what the boss-man says.”

 

“And he told you to kill my associates?”

 

“No. I just took initiative.” Another punch to the face, knocking Yamamoto’s head to the side.

 

“Where the fuck’s your evidence? You can’t just kill people for being suspicious.” Yamamoto said through gritted teeth, a dark bruise beginning to bloom on the side of his cheek.

 

“My ‘evidence’ is your associate telling me he couldn’t give me the stuff I wanted.” B shook a finger at Yamamoto. “I’ve been in this business a long time, Yamamoto-kun, and let me tell you, that’s the first sign of something fishy.”

 

“You didn’t have to kill them!”

 

B shook his head. “Yes, I did. I couldn’t give him the opportunity to kill me, could I? We couldn’t have that.”

 

Yamamoto grimaced. His teeth were coated in a sheen of clotting blood. “Has anyone ever told you that you might be a tad paranoid?”

 

B’s eyes turned to slits, and in a matter of seconds, Yamamoto’s head had been smacked onto the floor, eliciting a loud cracking noise. Yamamoto yelped, his lip wobbling.

 

“Yes, actually.” B said evenly. “But I don’t listen to them, because they’re trying to get me killed.”

 

No one spoke; the air filled with the sound of Yamamoto’s ragged breathing.

 

“Then why haven’t you killed me?” Yamamoto rasped.

 

B regarded him, his dark eyes calm and calculating. He stood up, dusting off the knees of his pants. “Good question. You don’t have to die, Yamamoto. Can I call you Yamamoto?”

 

“No.”

 

Another swift kick to Yamamoto’s stomach, eliciting a yelp of pain. “Well, I’m going to anyway.” B said dismissively. “It’s your choice whether you live or die. And it’ll be so much easier for all of us if you co-operate. And to be honest, I don’t particularly care about killing you.”

 

“Hah, I don’t believe you.”

 

“You should. Although you might’ve heard otherwise, I’m a reasonable man. Besides, disposing of bodies is a horribly messy business. Did you know they make you do that shit yourself? When I joined the Yakuza, I expected more _staffing_ ,” His eyes flitted to Matt and Mello briefly. “Well, _better_ staffing.”

 

“Can’t we just get to the point?” Yamamoto asked, laughing shakily. “You want to know why we didn’t give you your shit, right?”

 

“Incredible, Yamamoto. It’s like you’re psychic.”

 

“I won’t tell you anything.” Yamamoto spat.

 

“Ah, so you admit there’s something to tell?” B dug the heel of his boot into Yamamoto’s hip, leering at him while he did so. “I’d really appreciate it if we kept this short. I have a date tonight.”

 

“Huh, well, good luck with that.”

 

Yamamoto didn’t sound particularly sarcastic, but his tone must have irritated B, considering he delivered another hard kick to Yamamoto’s knees, making the boy scream in pain.

 

“She’s a supermodel.” B sneered. “An idol, actually. Misa fucking Amane! Everyone knows her.”

 

Yamamoto looked as if he was biting back a sarcastic remark, but instead resigned himself to going limp and staring at the ceiling.

 

“Wow, Yamamoto. I haven’t even started and you’re already looking rough. Okay, let’s start with a practice question. It’s just yes or no, got it?”

 

“…Yes.”

 

“Good. Are you a member of the Yakuza, Yamamoto?”

 

“I’ve worked with them, but I’m just a cook, so—no.”

 

“Right. But I’m sure you’re familiar with what we do with traitors, right?” B examined his fingers, as if to punctuate the point. “Everyone knows that.”

 

Yamamoto paled, and made an attempt to move away before B grabbed his leg in a vice-like grip.

 

“I trust you do,” He said, quiet enough to make it barely audible to Mello, who watched in silence from the other side of the room. “I’ll ask you the first question. It’s very easy, and if you’re smart you can cut this whole thing down. We’ve wasted time with unnecessary chitchat. I have a tight schedule, y’know?”

 

B dug through his pocket and withdrew a short, sharp switchblade. He ran the end across the skin under Yamamoto’s eye, his eyes misty.

 

Yamamoto spat a wad of blood-filled spit onto the carpet, and exhaled shakily. “Alright.” He whispered, his eyes trained on the dagger. “I can do that.”

 

“Good. Where the fuck is the meth?”

 

“I—I don’t…”

 

The blade moved from Yamamoto’s face to his thumb, and B dug the tip into Yamamoto’s thumb, making him scream in pain.

 

“Shit,” B muttered. He withdrew the blade, examining the blood running down the sides. “I think I hit bone.”

 

“Don’t knock him out, B.” Matt warned.

 

“Fuck, Matt, don’t you think I know how to do my job?” B snapped. He turned to Matt, pointing his blade at him. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

 

Matt stared, frozen in his position. Neither he nor B moved.

 

“Matt! Are you deaf? Can’t you answer the fucking question?”

Matt seemed to snap out of his hypnosis. “N-no… of course not…”

 

At first, B stared at him in silence, and Matt was smart enough to avert his gaze. In many ways—B was like a feral animal. He was wildly unpredictable and difficult, and saw the slightest word or look as a challenge. It was a wonder to Mello that Lawliet had somehow managed to tame him.

 

“Of course I’m not. And I know you know I’m not.” B cocked his head like a bird. The tension dissolved. Or, at least, was redirected. “Back to you, Yamamoto-kun. I won’t ask the question again.”

 

“I…”

 

“Fucking fuck, Yamamoto! This isn’t difficult!” B cried impatiently, the blade once again pressed against the teenager’s pale throat.

 

Yamamoto flinched, as if expecting to be cut again, but nothing came.

 

“I… they had it hidden.” He whispered, “They were hoping you would think they weren’t there—” Yamamoto gulped loudly, “—they were going to shoot you when they asked for it. They…”

 

“They what?”

 

“They hoped that if they hid when you first arrived, they could take you out more easily. Y’know… element of surprise and all that shit.“ Yamamoto’s flitted to Matt and Mello. “…They didn’t think you’d have company.”

 

“Hah! Do they think I’m stupid?”

 

“…It wasn’t my idea… I swear….”

 

“How am I supposed to know whether or not that’s true, Yamamoto?”

 

“I promise! I—”

 

B traced around the outline of Yamamoto’s eye socket with the tip of his knife, almost forensically gentle. “Calm down. I don’t care much about that. I just don’t understand why they thought killing me would be smart. Or remotely feasible.”

 

“They thought you were there to kill them.”

 

B smirked, his eyes flashing darkly. “My reputation proceeds me.”

 

“…They heard from an informant that you only… took out people. That you never went to _dealings_ yourself.”

 

“They don’t think I’m smart enough to do business?”

 

“No, no! I didn’t say that! They just said that you were involved in the messier parts of business, that’s all.”

 

“And this was an… informant?”

 

“Yeah. He said if they wanted any hope of surviving, they had to take you out.”

 

B frowned, “And who was this informant?”

 

“I don’t know, I never—”

 

B grabbed Yamamoto wrist, and in one fluid motion, drove his knife into the base of his thumb. Blood spurted over B’s shirt, and as he twisted, Yamamoto screeched in pain. Looking impatient, B grabbed his jaw and squeezed, stopping any noise from being emitted.

 

“Matt,” B said coolly, “Can you get me a tea towel? Or something along those lines.”

 

Matt hurried into the kitchen, coming back a minute later with a stained tea towel. He passed it to B, who waved it in Yamamoto’s face.

 

“If you keep fucking screaming,” B hissed, grabbing Yamamoto’s chin, “I’ll stuff this into your mouth and chop your dick off.”

 

Yamamoto quickly quieted, his chest heaving.

 

“Okay, I’ll ask you again. Who was this ‘informant’?” B said calmly.

 

“I… I never met him myself. I think it was something beginning with A--”

 

“You can’t even remember their fucking name?”

 

“He only came up in passing!”

 

“He?” B repeated, moving closer to Yamamoto’s face. “It’s definitely a man?”

 

“I… I assumed so…”

 

“’A.’” B mulled over the words, standing up straight. “Could it be Takada-gumi? Lawliet says they can’t be trusted. It doesn’t sound below them to plant shit like this.”

 

“No one said anything about the Takada-gumi—“ Yamamoto interjected, but B swiftly kicked his groin hard before he could continue.

 

“No one fucking asked you.” B snapped. He sauntered away from Yamamoto’s body, and leaned against the wall. “I need to tell Lawliet. Someone is trying to get me killed.”

 

“You don’t know that—” Mello started, but his back had hit the wall before he could continue. B loomed over him, his hand planted on the side of Mello’s head. Mello met his gaze defiantly, but B seemed to grow bored to tore his away.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Mello. You don’t know shit.”

 

At that moment, the silence was penetrating but a loud, high ringing. B snapped his fingers, felt around, and answered the buzzing phone.

 

“Misa-chan!” B exclaimed, “You called!”

 

Mello couldn’t help but stare in amazement at the sudden shift in B’s voice—which had transformed from low and threatening to light and playful in a matter of seconds. Even the scowl on his face had disappeared in favor of a dopey grin.

There was a high-pitched voice from the other line, and B slumped onto the sofa, plopping himself down, seemingly happy to listen to Misa’s chatter.

 

“ _I’m dating a fucking supermodel_ ,” he mouthed to Mello. He paid no attention to Yamamoto, who was still groaning and writhing on the floor.

 

Misa went on for a few minutes longer, B barely getting a word in. Mello had never met Misa Amane himself, but he’d heard enough about her, considering the fact that B never shut the fuck up about her.

 

“Right now?” B asked, “Not much, really.” He looked at Yamamoto fleetingly, “Just a few errands.” He smiled. “Great. I’ll see you there.”

 

Mello scowled at him, but B happily ignored him. Mello’s eyes fell to Yamamoto, who was still splayed over the floor, a thin stream of blood trailing down from the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t moving or making a noise anymore—and Mello briefly wondered whether or not he was still alive.

 

“Hmm? Probably eight-ish. I’ll pick you up? Great.”

 

There were a few minutes more of chatter, before B eventually hung up, but not before an extremely long and dragging goodbye.

 

“Sorry about that.  She’s Misa Amane!” B grinned, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. “The fucking idol!”

 

His childish delight was more than unsettling—especially considering the bloody teenager strewn at his feet.

Mello snorted and raised an eyebrow. “What lies did you tell her? She seems way to sweet to date mobsters.”

 

“I didn’t lie to her!” B hesitated, “I just didn’t tell her the _whole_ truth. And don’t underestimate cute, short girls. They’re always the kinkiest.”

 

“Ugh, I didn’t ask.” Mello groaned. “Does she know what you…do?”

 

“Yes.” B said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Sort of.”

 

“Why am I not surprised.” Matt said snidely. He’d lit a cigarette, sending plumes of pearly smoke into the air.

 

“We’re going off on a tangent.” B snapped. “But I really need to go, let’s finish this.” He finally tore his gaze back to Yamamoto, who looked up anxiously.

 

“What else is there to do? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know anything else.” Mello said, watching Yamamoto squirm on the carpet.

 

“I think I agree, actually.” B said cheerfully. He strode over and stood over Yamamoto, kicking him playfully as he did so.

 

“Wait…” Yamamoto wheezed, “You’re going to let me go? Finally?”

 

“Oh, I’m not sure. I don’t think that’s particularly beneficial.” B said with a shrug. “I mean, I don’t want to going to tell whoever this ‘A’ person is all about this exchange, do I?”

 

“It’s beneficial is to me!”

“Right. Sorry about that. You can’t please everyone, can you?”

 

“You fucking _said_ —”

 

Yamamoto yelped as B grabbed him by the hair, pressed the barrel of his gun between his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

 

Mello blanched at the noise, watching as red spattered all over Matt’s carpet. No one spoke, the silence only shattered by the sound of B tossing his handgun into the wall.

 

“It’s empty.” He huffed “I used my last fucking bullet on that cunt.”

 

“Can’t you just get some more bullets?”

 

“I will. I’ll pick it up later.” B’s attention finally shifted to Yamamoto. “Got any alkaline hydrolysis on you?”

 

“Not… that I know of...” Matt said slowly.

 

B rolled his eyes. “Why the fuck not? Well, you can dispose of this shit on your own.”

 

“What? No fucking way!” Mello protested, “You killed him, not us!”

 

“I have a date!” B said, sulking.

“So we’re supposed to lug a fucking dead body across the street and dump it… where? The dumpster?” Mello quipped.

 

“Why did you have to come to _my_ house?” Matt groaned, running a hand through his hair.

 

“It’s not as either of you two did any work.” B grumbled, turning away. “You two just fucking stood there!”

 

“As if we asked to be here!”

 

B sighed heavily. “Alright, alright. You got any sodium hydroxide?”

 

“What?”

 

“Lye.” B said impatiently, “Do you have any lye?”

 

“Lye?” Matt repeated, “Why the fuck would I have lye? Do I look like I make soap for fun?”

“Ugh. Just get me some batteries, salt and water. You have _that_ , right?”

 

* * *

 

Mello wrinkled his nose as the fleshy pulp that was once Yamamoto sank to the bottom of the bathtub, the air saturated with the stench. They’d spent the past two hours watching B prepare an acid he claimed would easily dissolve Yamamoto’s body without much difficulty. Matt had been sent to the local supermarket several times to fetch ingredients.

 

“How long does this shit take?” Mello muttered, averting his gaze and covering his nose.

 

“Don’t worry,” B assured, “In a few hours, it’ll be the same consistency as mineral oil. You can wash it down the drain.”

 

“Ugh.” Matt said. He looked as if he was about to be sick.

 

“Yeah, well. I’ll be going now.”

 

“What?”

 

“Why the hell would I stay?” B asked, “To watch you two crying at the sight of a dead body?”

 

“We're not crying! It just smells fucking disgusting!”

 

“Right, right. Well, you two do that while I go and fuck an idol.” B sneered. “Yes, I know, it’s very upsetting. I’ll be off.”

 

B sauntered past them, slapping Matt on the shoulder as he did so. He grabbed his coat and slammed the front door shut, leaving Matt and Mello in tense quiet.

 

“Fucking hell, Mello.” Matt said after a pause. He stared at the space where B had been, his breathing ragged. “How could we let ourselves get this deep?”

 


	6. where the streets have no name

****

In L’s dream—he was back in Tokyo.

Although he knew where he was—the city seemed somewhat distorted. The lights were brighter than they should have been, the colors more overbearing and the sounds more stifling. L was surrounded by thousands of faceless passers-by, and he was running, pushing through the crowd, unsure of what exactly he was running from.

He’d found Tokyo relaxing once—the people were generally polite and everything ran much more efficiently than New York. Now, it seemed nightmarish and terrifying, a labyrinthine maze designed to keep L in a vice-like grip.

He hastily shoved people aside, his arms shaking. Eventually, he felt a rough hand clamp down on his shoulder.

Whoever the hand belonged to didn’t say anything as they pulled him through the throng, and after a few moments, L gave up on resisting.

_This is a dream_ , L thought suddenly, struggling against the stranger as he was shoved into a car. _Wake the fuck up._

L jolted awake, cold and shivering. He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, considering taking a long, hot shower. It was completely dark around him; the only thing that was in sight was the thin, yellow crack of light from under the door.

He moved to stand up, but something covered his mouth, deadening his yell of surprise.

L squirmed, doing his best to shake his captor off, but someone was securing his hands behind his back and gagging his mouth. A rough hand grabbed him by the hair and dragged him out of bed, whilst someone else covered his eyes. From behind the blindfold, L could see that the lights had been suddenly switched on, making him blanch.

 

He was dragged across the carpet, and it dug into bare expanses of skin, making them tender and sore. After a while he was tossed into something that felt like the back of a car. He’d given up on struggling, focusing instead on calming himself and formulating some kind of plan.

His captors weren’t speaking, apart from the occasional grunt of exertion. The only thing L could hear clearly was the sound of traffic and his own heavy breathing.

“I was expecting someone… bulkier.” A feminine voice said from the front seat, and L recognized the drawling tone of Merrie—one of the new additions into the family. He yelled into his gag and struggled.

“Shit,” Merrie cursed, “he probably recognizes my voice. Whatever,” She laughed,  “I’ll keep quiet.”

So Merrie had betrayed his father? Was she stupid? Why was she doing this?

He’d never completely trusted her, but then again, L had never completely trusted anyone. Still, he hadn’t expected her to do something like _this_.

What was _this_ , anyway? A hostage situation? Were they trying to control Alexei through him?

_That probably won’t work_ , L thought sourly.

He stopped struggling and flopped into the seat, resting his head on the cushioned surface.

After what could have been hours of driving, the car grinded to a halt. Someone grabbed L by the collar and hauled him out of the car, throwing him to the ground and ripping his blindfold off somewhere in the process.

L squinted, doing his best to identify the three faces leering down at him. One was definitely Merrie, although her eyes were obscured by sunglasses, (despite it being dark) as well as two burly men at her side.

They ripped the gag out of his mouth, and L hissed in surprise. He heaved, glaring up at his captors.

“It’s… you….” He murmured, narrowing his eyes at Merrie.  

Merrie cocked her head and smirked. Crouching so that she was on his level, she met his gaze, her eyes searching his.

“I’m sorry, L.” She said softly. Perhaps it was L’s imagination—but she sounded somewhat sincere. Her eyebrows furrowed together, and she reached down to stroke his cheek with the side of her hand. The gesture was gentle enough to make L hope that she’d let him go.

The hand disappeared, though, and L wasn’t surprised when it slipped into her purse and withdrew a handgun. In a languid motion, she pressed the barrel to his temple.

“The names of all of your father’s closest associates.” She said lazily. “I don’t want to kill you, L.”  She added, as if it was an afterthought and she wasn’t trying to appear non-threatening.

“What makes you think I know any better than you?” L slurred, his eyes set on the gun. “You think he tells _me_ everything?”

Merrie slapped him in the face. The blow was hard and unexpected, and L blinked in surprise.

“Don’t lie, L.” She said coolly.

_Alright_ , L thought, _so she_ is _serious about this_.

“I’m not.”  He replied through gritted teeth. “And if you really think I am, you might as well just kill me, because this is a waste of both of our time.”

He was lying. But he couldn’t let her know that.

“I _do_ think you’re lying, and this is your last chance.” She said, digging the barrel further into his head.

 

L didn’t respond, instead staring at the dirt he was resting his head on.

“You’re really not going to tell me anything?” Merrie sounded disappointed. “Alright.” She sighed after a pause, nodding to the man on her left.

The man grabbed his hair and slammed his head into ground. The pain spread quickly through L’s skull, and he grunted in pain.

“I didn’t peg you as the loyal type, L.” Merrie said with the cold, objective disinterest of a scientist.

“I never claimed to be loyal. But I’m not stupid, either.” L said. If he hadn’t been in so much pain, he would have smirked at her.

“So… you’d rather die than be in your father’s disgrace?” She sneered.

“I don’t care about that. He’s just much more imaginative in his cruelty than you.” L replied. “As I said, I’m not stupid.”

Merrie’s eyes glinted, and before L could register anything, she pointed the gun at L’s arm and squeezed the trigger.

Pain spread through L’s arm and he screamed, but it wasn’t as much pain as he’d expected. The sound made L’s ears ring, but he was very much still alive—still alive—not dead—

Merrie sighed, but this time she sounded relieved.  

“I’m glad you passed, L.” She breathed out.

L blinked, uncomprehending. His white shirt was stained in blood, but Merrie hadn’t shot him with a bullet. Still, he could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

“Passed?” He repeated.  

Merrie turned away, a pained expression crossing her face. “It was all a fabrication, L. I’m sorry.”

L’s ears rung, and he could barely think straight, too saturated in burning, furious anger.

“A… fabrication?” He repeated.

“A loyalty test, basically.”

L was quiet, and pressed a hand to his arm. The skin was tender and bloody where the blank had hit him. Unthinkingly, he traced his thumb over the now-mangled skin.

After thirty seconds of silence, L vomited.

L jerked awake, this time for real. Still panting, he reached over and flicked the light on.

There weren’t any men in black there to take him away, but still L couldn’t stop shaking.  

He took deep breaths in an attempt to ground himself, willing the panic attack away. They weren’t as bad as they used to be; when he’d first left Japan they seemed to happen every time closed his eyes. Now they were far less frequent, but scared him no less than they had ten years ago.

They still made getting a good night’s sleep difficult, though. The few hours L normally snatched didn’t give him the opportunity to dream—hence why he preferred them.

Feeling a sudden chill, L pulled the sheets back over himself and stared at the ceiling, feeling as if he’ just ran a marathon. After what felt like hours more of ragged breaths and a burning migraine; he drifted back into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

**  
**  


Meeting with Light became a strange kind of routine; with L somehow ending up slumped across Light’s couch with increasing frequency. Light’s company managed to be most exhilarating and relaxing; when they debated, L felt genuinely challenged for the first time in years. When they were quiet, which was, admittedly, not that often, the silence was easy instead of awkward. Occasionally Light would even cook him dinner, under the apparent guise of trying to force something healthy down his throat. Although L would loudly complain, he’d wolf down the entire plate down in a few minutes—as well as half of Light’s.

Currently, Light was bent over stewing curry wafuu, the scent drifting across the room and making L’s mouth water. Light, although he could hardly be called an experienced cook, liked to prepare the traditional Japanese recipes that he claimed were passed down from his mother on occasion, and even L had to admit they were good.

_Really_ good.

“I wish my mother had cooked,” L murmured as he fiddled with one of the pillows on one of Light’s chairs. “I spent my childhood living off instant ramen and candy.”

“She never cooked?” Light asked curiously. “Not at all?”

“No. Although, that was probably the least of her sins.” L said. He did his best not to sound bitter.

“What do you mean?” Light asked earnestly.

L sighed, reclining onto the couch. “She didn’t really care—that was her main problem.”

There was a brief but awkward silence.

“Oh.” Light replied eventually. “I’m sorry.”

The pan sizzled.

“Yeah. Then again, she was very young when I was born. In many ways—I feel bad for her.”

L also felt bad for unloading this onto Light, but he was too relaxed to care. He’d never told anyone this before, let alone someone he’d met only a few weeks ago. There was something about him—something soft and enigmatic—that L found himself unusually drawn to. Perhaps this was what it was like coming home to a wife you adored after a long, exhausting day at work.

“My mom was about as maternal as they came,” Light laughed, his back turned. “She didn’t have a job or anything, and spent most her time cooking and cleaning. A typical Japanese housewife.”

“You’d have to physically tie my mother to the radiator to stop her from leaving the house.”

They drifted back into quietness, and L could hear Light pushing vegetables around the pan.

“Did you get along?” Light asked tentatively, “You and your mom?”

“Oddly enough, we did. When we actually saw each other, that was.” L cleared his throat. “Although she wasn’t nice in a way that you’d really want a mother to be nice, really. More like a bored babysitter kind of nice.”

“Oh. That’s…”

“Unfortunate?” L said shortly, “Yes, it was.”

Light didn’t respond, continuing with his cooking in silence. At first L assumed it was his imagination, but after listening carefully, he realized Light was gently humming something under his breath.

“You sing?” He asked

“Hmm? No.” Light said, “Definitely not. I just have this song in my head.”

“Which one?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It was playing a commercial. There was a piano.”

“It sounds nice.”

Light snorted, “It does?”

“Yes.” L leaned into the pillow behind his head, his eyes half closed. “It’s relaxing.”

The sun was beginning to sink behind the horizon, bathing the entire place in golden light. That, paired with the haze of L’s sleep deprivation, Light looked positively diabolical—shadows carving his face into harsh, dark lines and pale skin. L hadn’t noticed how sharp his jaw was before—or how his collarbones were far more jagged than he’d realized.

“You know,” L said, softly enough for his voice to be almost inaudible, “I feel the need to educate you in all the pop culture you’ve seemingly missed out on, since you seem to have been living under a rock for the twenty-odd years you’ve been alive.”

“I told you. I was never interested—and I was busy.”

“Well, you’re not busy now. And you don’t know that you won’t be interested.”

Light regarded him with a cocked eyebrow. “Alright. Where would my education begin?” He asked, coy.  

“Oh, I don’t know. I get the feeling you’d like Hitchcock, being a budding psychologist and all. Have you ever seen _Vertigo? Dial M for Murder? Psycho_?”

“Nope.”

“Not even _Hitchcock_?” L groaned, despairing. “What a dedicated little boy you must have been.”

“I was.” Light said with a small shrug. “In all honesty, I didn’t really think much else mattered.”

“That sounds depressing.”

“It’s not, it’s just…” Light’s voice trailed off, his face obscured from view. He cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter. Which one should I watch first?”

“ _Psycho_ ’s my favorite. _Vertigo_ , however, is objectively the best.”

“Alright. How long are they?”

“About two hours each.”

Light made a miserable noise. “Two hours? Fuck, I don’t know if I can motivate myself to sit down that long. I thought they’d be shorter because they’re, like…. older and stuff.”

“You have to _motivate_ yourself to not do anything for two hours? You sound antsy.”

“Well—yeah.” Light said. “You don’t?”

“No. I watch movies to forget about all the things on my mind.” L said. He couldn’t imagine having to motivate himself to watch movies. “Is that curry almost ready?”

“A couple more minutes.”

“Nice. Although I still think it could be improved with a pound of sugar.”

Light wrinkled his nose and stirred the food around the pan. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Each to their own. And if you can’t motivate yourself to watch movies—I could always do it with you. I’ll even tell you trivia as we go along. It’ll be fun.”

“Oooh, lucky me.”

“Okay—okay,” L relented, “no trivia. But I’ll keep you motivated. I’ll spray you with water like a cat every time you get up and try to leave.”

“You’re really selling me on this.”

“It will be. Nothing screams ‘fun’ like hot food and black and white movies.”

“Hmm. Maybe to you.”

Light took the rice off the heat, pouring it into the strainer. He served two plates—a full, steaming one for L and a much smaller one for himself.

“You must have picked that up from your mother.” L joked, “Are you trying to fatten me up?”

“Who else is going to make you eat like a normal human being? I worry for your blood sugar levels, you know.”

“I’ve managed just fine for the twenty-five years I’ve been alive.”

Light shook his head as he picked out two sets of knives and forks. “I have no fucking clue how you functioned without me.”

He passed L his plate and L immediately dug in, flashing Light a curry-filled grin. Light rolled his eyes in response, but L could see the beginnings of a smile on his face before he turned around.

Light sat down across from him, his hands wrapped around his bowl. He spent more time watching L eat his food than eating his own.

“You know,” Light said softly, “I feel that it’s _your_ turn to have me around for dinner.”

L froze, his spoon inches away from his mouth. It wasn’t that he had anything to hide—or at least nothing Light would be able to find, but he was sure having Light in his home would feel far too… intimate. He’d be able to see how much of a mess L really was—the crumpled clothes, the empty packets of food, the peeling wallpaper. Light’s apartment was so immaculate—just like him. It made L feel inferior in comparison.

“Maybe,” He shrugged, feigning apathy. “I don’t know if you’d want to, though. It’s pretty messy.” He punctuated the words with a glance around Light’s apartment. “Not like yours.”

“I don’t care if it’s messy.” Light said, pushing his food around the plate. “I’m just curious, really.”

They both went back to their curry, L scoffing the rest and rising to get seconds.

“Hungry?” Light asked dryly.

“I’m always hungry.” L replied, his mouth stuffed with rice.  

Light’s eyes remained trained on him, uncharacteristically soft. After a second, they flitted away. “I’m glad you’re eating something.” He said.

“I could say the same for you.” L replied, his voice low.

Light immediately looked up, his gaze searing. Their eyes met, but this time, it was L’s turn to avert his gaze.

Light sighed and stood. As he walked into the kitchen, he grabbed L’s half-full bowl.

“Hey!” L protested, making a grab for it. “I wasn’t finished!”

“Tough. I need to clean.” Light said. He sounded unusually curt.

L leaned against the counter and sulked, watching as Light cleared away the pots and pans he’d used to prepare the meal. The first time this had happened, L had tried to assist him, but Light had batted his hands away and insisted that he was a guest and it wasn't necessary.

Instead of staying, L dragged himself off the coach and wandered toward the bookshelf. There was nothing of real interest there, just a few books on psychology and bog-standard classics. If Light was as scathing about fiction books as he was about movies, L doubted he would have read any of them.

He traced the barely-touched spines, pulling one out at random.

“Alphabetized,” He noted. “You really are organized.”

“It’s not that unusual.”

“To me, it is.” L said. He opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could something from the bottom shelf caught his eye.

“Jesus!” He exclaimed, “Is this… an actual DVD? I thought the great Light Asahi was far above the mundane medium of film.”

Light rolled his eyes, his ears tinged slightly pink. “Yes, well. You said you liked it, so I picked it up. I didn’t get further than five minutes, so I don’t care that much.”

L examined the cover. It _was_ one of his favorites—although he didn’t remember mentioning it to Light in passing or otherwise.

“It’s one of the best films of all times,” L whined, “how can you not like it? I mean, I get that it’s long, but—”

“It’s three fucking hours, Ryuga.”

“Yes, well. It’s three hours of Al Pacino in all of his suit-clad glory. Watch it with me. I’ll make sure you get the full experience.” L said earnestly.

Light gaze flitted from the television to the DVD in L’s hand. “Now?”

“I haven’t got anything to do, and I doubt you do, so let’s just do it.”

Light looked slightly baffled, but shrugged. “Alright. If you want to. I may fall asleep though—I warn you.”

“If you do, you’ll miss the finer plot details, and you won’t be able to enjoy it.”

“I don’t care that much.” Light replied evenly, and dropped onto the couch, reclining until he took the entire thing up. He yawned and closed his eyes.

L scowled, leaning over Light and prodding the side of his cheek.

“Ow,” Light drawled, opening one eye.

“Move up.”

With a grunt, Light shifted his legs up the coach, his eyes still closed. L eyed him for a moment, wary. He seemed unusually at ease, and the way he looked effortlessly handsome sprawled across L’s coach made something in his chest go taut.

Light remained there, seemingly uninterested as L set up the DVD player. Once he was done, L dropped next to Light, carefully avoiding his legs.

The film flickered to life and they sat in silence, L’s eyes fixed on the screen. After seeing it so many times, he could virtually recite every word.

Half an hour passed, and L’s gaze drifted briefly over to Light, who was clearly struggling to stay awake. L poked him again, this time with his foot, and Light jerked.

“I’m awake—I’m awake.” He muttered, waving L away.

“You better be. This is an important plot point. Pay attention.”

“Have I missed that much? So far it’s all just emotional Italian men and suits. Lots of fucking suits.”

“Their emotion is important.” L sniffed, turning his face away. “You don’t appreciate genius.”

“I appreciate genius! I just wouldn’t—ow!”

Light rubbed the area where L’s cushion had struck him, flourishing the action with a melodramatic scowl.

“It's one of the greatest character arcs of all time.” L protested.

“Not _Macbeth_? _King Lear_?”

“Well… you could argue it’s Macbeth in a gangster setting…”

Light surveyed him for a moment, pensive. “So… you like gangster movies?”

L hesitated. “Not really, actually. “ He said eventually, “This one just happens to be an exception.”

_If I wanted gangsters_ , L thought, _I’d just go back to my family._

“This isn’t just a gangster film, though.” L said, “It’s incredibly ahead of its time, too. And it doesn’t age.”

“I’d hate to see what ‘its time’ was like.”

L gave him a stare he hoped looked scathing. “Silly little boy. You don’t know anything about film.”

“As I said, I’ve never had opportunities to watch them. The only films I’ve seen were the kids ones I watched when I was a child.”

“Ah,” L laughed nervously, “in that area you surpass me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I only started watching movies when I was in my teens. So… I never saw any children’s films.”

“What?” Light said, sitting up. “Not even Disney and stuff?”

“No.”

“Not even one?”

“Nope.”

Light shook his head. “No way. That is ridiculous.”

L shrugged. “My father wasn’t the type.”

“I remember my mom took me to see _The Lion King_ in theatres when I was eight—I fucking bawled. You really missed out.”

“Never seen it.”

“Unbelievable. Next time we watch a movie, we’re watching _Cinderella_ , okay?”

Against his wishes, L cracked a small smile. “Okay.”

 

He played the film again, completely seduced by the story, despite having seen it a thousand times. Once the first act was nearing its completion, to his surprise, he felt something fall into his lap.

He looked down to see Light’s head resting on his legs, his arm shielding his face. Heat crept up L’s neck.

“I don’t think you’re even bothering to pretend anymore.” L murmured, his voice taut.

Light removed his arm and blinked up at L, his eyes half-mast. After a short silence, his hand slipped up L’s shirt and he tugged him down for a gentle kiss.

L didn't move, too surprised by what had just happened to respond. When reality came seeping back, he found his hand tangling in Light’s hair, using his thumbs to  ease his mouth open. Light groaned, pulling L further down.

“No.” Light said, “I’m not.”

L blinked, and the image vanished. Light continued to stare up at him, seemingly bemused.

“Something wrong?” He asked softly.

_Had he been staring?_ “Hmm? No.”

There was a slight discomfort in his pants, and not knowing what else to do, he unceremoniously shoved Light off of him.

Light yelped in surprise and landed on the floor, rolling onto his side to glare at L. “What was that for?” He demanded.

“I…” L was lost for words, “…need to go to the bathroom.”

He stepped over Light and tumbled into the bathroom, cursing under his breath.

* * *

Light barely registered L leaving the room, just as he barely registered the film playing on the screen. Shaking his head, he picked himself off the floor and dusted off his jeans.

After a couple of minute, L still wasn’t back. Light stretched his back and huffed, nuzzling the arm of the sofa. When the phone in his back pocket began to buzz, he scowled and covered his ears, hoping the noise would go away.

It didn’t.

Eventually, he fished the phone out of his pocket and checked the caller I.D.

It was B.

Frowning, he slipped through the open and onto the fire escape, glancing over at the bathroom door, where L still hadn’t emerged.

He snapped the phone open.

“B?” He answered cautiously.

“Light.”

“What is it?”

“Have you found out any information from L yet?” B sounded breathy, as if he’d just been running.

Light didn’t respond at first, fleetingly glancing back into the living room. “…A little.” He said.

“A little? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well… not much. I haven’t found out that much.”

He heard B swear on the other line.

“In that case,” B hissed, “can you hurry up with things? We kind of have a situation.”

“A situation? Of what variety?”

B inhaled, and then exhaled shakily. “…Higuchi is dead.”

Light’s reply got caught in his throat, and instead, he stared at the road below. Cars sped past; brief flashes of fluorescent light in otherwise stark darkness.

“He’s… dead?”

“Yes, genius, he’s fucking dead.” B sniffed. “Everything’s going to shit over here. One of the cooks tried to have me killed.”

“A _cook_?”

“Yep. Under the order of someone else, apparently.”

“Wait, wait, slow down. How did Higuchi die?”

“Someone broke into his hotel room. Shot him and the whore he was fucking.”

“…How many times?”

B’s laughter was hollow. “Why do you need to know how many times, you sick fuck? Eleven.”

“No one has any idea who did it?”

“As far as I know, which is more than most. It was just some small fry under the orders of a much larger fry.”

“…I see.” Light said flatly. “Do you think the Takada-gumi could have anything to do with it?”

“Possibly. Maybe. I’m not sure. I just don’t…” B sounded uncharacteristically flustered. “I don’t see why the hell they would do that. Is Takada fucking insane?”

“I don’t know. Last time I checked, he actually valued his life.”

B sighed deeply. “Look, Yagami.” He said, “Normally I’d be happy to keep you in a different country, far away from me, but…. I can’t believe I’m saying this… but we need you.”

Light thought back to L. “I’m… in the middle of something. I’m close to a breakthrough with Lavrentiy, I swear.”

“Lavrentiy.” B echoed bitterly. “Feels weird to hear that name again. You have to get him back to Tokyo.”

“How soon?”

“Fucking fuck, do I have to spell things out for you? Fucking soon, alright?”

“…Two months. Give me two months.”

“Two months? We don’t have forever. I’d say one. At the most.”

“One?” Light asked disbelievingly. Although L seemed to like him, he doubted he trusted him enough to spill any secrets he owed the Ohba-gumi. “How am I supposed to earn his complete trust in that time?”

“You know what? Fuck it. Just… keep him in New York for the next few weeks. We’ll come pick you up, okay?”

“Pick me up? Wait, B—” The line was cut off before Light could continue.  Swearing profusely, he threw his phone into the street below, hearing the satisfying ‘crack’ of meal hitting the concrete.

He fell against the wall and sighed, running a hand through his hair. Light wished he’d never come to New York—he wished he hadn’t found the illusion of safety and stability, he wished he’d never met L, but he wasn’t quite sure why.

Light just needed to convince L to willingly return his loyalty to the Ohba-gumi. If he didn’t, he could be killed for his treachery. L had given secrets of the Ohba-gumi not only to the police but to other Yakuza families, and it if had been anyone else, Light knew Lawliet would have had him shot in the back without a second’s hesitation.

There was the sound of footsteps behind him, and Light turned around to see L climb through the window and onto the fire escape.

“Hey,” he said quietly. He looked different in the dark. Older.

“Hey.” Light returned.

“Cold, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

L sat himself down on the stairs and wrapped his arms around his chest. His gaze travelled across the road and the skyline.

“Not like Tokyo?” He joked.

“Not like Tokyo.”

Light meandered over to where L was, and sat quietly beside him.  It was a little warmer next to him compared to what it was like on the edge.

Every little thing in the world, Light pondered, had to be lead up to from a series of coincidence. It was a coincidence that some petty criminal chose his house to rob, it was a coincidence that Alexei Lawliet happened to be the man to adopt hi,, it was a genetic coincidence that he happened to have the right brain cells to be conventionally intelligent and attractive, a coincidence that out of all the people Lawliet chose to find his son, he chose him, a coincidence that Lavrentiy happened to make something inside of him sear, a coincidence that they’d started talking in that bar, a coincidence that he’d seen L in the grocery store. A coincidence that they were sitting out here.

Light didn’t believe in coincidences.

“Are you going to kiss me?” He asked L softly.

L didn’t move, aside from his eyes, which widened in surprise. “What?”

Light shifted closer, laying his hand on L’s shoulder, his touch feather-light.

“You’re not good at this, are you?” He murmured. Without another word, he pressed his lips against L’s, who didn’t respond. Traffic continued to speed by and the moment seemed to freeze, with L’s hands coming to rest somewhere on Light’s hips.

After what seemed like an eternity, Light drew back, and took a deep breath.

 

L stared at him blankly, his eyes searching Light’s.

“You don’t—” Light started, but before he could finish, L planted his hands on either side of Light’s face, and pulled him in for a second kiss.

This one was far more ravenous, far hungrier than the first. L tugged on his hair, eliciting a slight moan from Light.

They pulled apart for breath, and all of a sudden Light was dizzy, dizzy from the height, dizzy from the lack of oxygen in his lungs, dizzy from the knowledge of Higuchi’s death, dizzy from L’s sheer proximity. Dizzy from the knowledge of what was to come.

L looked about as bemused as Light felt. From somewhere, a siren sounded.

They stayed like that for a while, their shoulders pressed against one another’s—a silent show of intimacy. Headlights occasionally illuminated the street, and for a second, Light could catch of a glimpse of L’s face, bathed in fluorescent light.

Eventually they trailed back into the apartment. Light hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the warmth. L remained hovering by the window and groping through his pocket, perhaps getting himself a cigarette.

Light scraped the plates, to his surprise, at ease in the silence. He flicked the television over to some channel which seemed to be showing re-runs of trashy reality television, and put it on low volume, only to have some kind of background noise.

Careful to avoid L’s eyes, he sat himself back on the couch, curling against the armrest, barely watching the program and half-asleep.

“Aren’t you going to play the film?” L said from the window. He sounded disappointed.

L was tense.

L didn’t trust him.

But then again, L didn’t trust anyone.

L switched the light on the table back off, and room was plunged back into a bluish darkness. L’s silhouette shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t change the channel.

“Are you sure you don’t mind watching this? To be honest—”

“Can I kiss you again?” L asked suddenly.  

Light stared at him for a second, and then laughed.

“Jesus,” He snorted, “are you seriously asking? What are we, twelve?”

L didn’t respond immediately, so Light took matters into his own hands, and instead met L’s lips in a third kiss.

Light had kissed people before. He’d kissed Haruka Tanaka in sixth grade just because she’d asked and he was curious. That had been awkward and fumbling because they were twelve and equally inexperienced; Light had barely thought about it after it happened. In seventh grade, he’d kissed Yuri Mori. She’d been in the year above his and she’d used her tongue. He didn’t kiss many girls after that—that was the year his parents died.  

The third person he had kissed was B, obviously, but he didn’t want to think about that.

Kissing L was different to kissing Haruka and Yuri and B, it was curious and made something in Light’s chest soften, despite the urgency in the action.

 

He really, _really_ shouldn't be doing this. This wasn’t the way Light worked, not normally. Sure, he’d utilize his charm but he didn’t seduce people to get what he wanted. Even if that was what he was doing, why did he want to push thoughts of Lawliet and the Ohba-gumi to the back of his mind whenever he was with L?

His hands roamed across L’s back, taking in the texture of his shirt and the tautness of his posture. He thought idly to himself that L looked much better when his shoulders weren’t slouched forward. They looked broader, which made L look older. His hands slid down L’s chest and to his ribs, his thumbs running over the grooves in his ribcage. L inhaled sharply, tightening his grip on Light’s waist.

L pulled back to breathe, before moving from Light’s lips to his jaw, and from his jaw to his neck, and from his neck to his collarbone.

“Is this a bad idea?” L muttered, slightly breathless. Light wasn’t sure if was supposed to answer.

L didn’t look like he was really expecting one, so he continued to work his way down Light’s chest, choosing to kiss fabric instead of removing his shirt. When he got to his stomach, he ran a cautious thumb over Light’s crotch, earning him a soft grunt. He undid the zipper slowly, in a manner which was more cautious than seductive.

“It’s probably a bad idea.” Light breathed out, in answer to L’s earlier question.

“Probably.” L replied. “Do you want me to stop?”

**  
“No.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> godfather and chill


	7. from a late night train

****

_There was a dying bird in the grass._

 

_B’s mother had once taught him all the different species of birds; from the gentle colors and beauty of rollers, to the sprawling grandiosity of eagles. He couldn’t remember all of them, though, and was struggling to recall what this bird happened to be. It was grey and fluffy, but it was difficult to see all of the colors when the feathers were obscured by dried blood like that. She’d had entire books on them lining the shelves of their old apartment; they were dusty and dog-eared, with careful ink drawings of birds with wordy descriptions underneath. B’s mother rarely indulged in what she believed to be fiction, but of course, very few people would qualify the way she viewed the world as reality._

_A modulated voice sounded from behind him, and B spun around, his eyes wide in surprise. They landed on a lanky boy in his early teens, who couldn’t have been more than two years older than him. It was obvious that he had recently experienced a rapid growth spurt—as evidenced by his spindly frame and hunched posture._

_B stared blankly at him, the words going right over his head._

_It was obvious the boy was foreign, and yet he continued to speak to B in quick fire Japanese. B had learned a few words before coming here, but nowhere near enough to maintain conversation. Besides, Japanese was hardly similar to Korean and Spanish—his first languages._

_The boy frowned, realization slowly dawning in his eyes_

_“Are you from Korea?” He asked tentatively, in accented but distinguishable Korean._

_B nodded, surveying the other boy in a combination of curiosity and caution._

_The boy sighed. “I was saying that you shouldn’t pick it up.” He gestured to the grass, “It will smell like a human, and if it lives, its mother will reject it.”_

_B didn’t say anything, but his face must have fell, since the boy looked slightly guilty, presumably from his curtness._

_“I don’t mean to seem rude. My father mentioned you,” the boy continued, “you’re the orphan, right?”_

_“…Yes.”_

_“I’m sorry about your parents.” The boy said. He sounded like a person who was trying to sound if they cared, but wasn’t trying hard enough to really make his words convincing._

_B looked away, unsure of what he ought to say. What could he say? That it was alright?_

_“It’s not like it’s your fault.” He replied instead, his voice smooth. “If you don’t mind me asking… who are you?”_

_“My name is L.” The boy said, cocking his head and scrutinizing B with staring, intelligent eyes._

 

* * *

 

L’s mornings normally went something like this.

 

He’d get up at some ungodly hour, drag himself out of bed, make himself a cup of too-hot coffee and a bowl of lucky charms. After that, he’d sit on the fire escape with a cigarette, thinking about everything and nothing. He’d have a second bowl of cereal in front of the television, and probably have another cigarette. If he was working on that day, he’d force himself into his suit and take the subway to work, where he’d meander through the day wishing he were anywhere else.

 

Well, almost anywhere.

 

Luckily, today was his day off, and L was spending the morning watching re-runs of _Cowboy Bebop_ in his underwear and a t-shirt. Normally, he would’ve gone to visit Light, but things still felt tender and tense ever since the previous weekend. After their sexual encounter, L had left in a fumbling hurry, and they hadn’t spoken since. Although he didn’t really want to admit, L was beginning to miss his presence.

 

As L went to make himself his third bowl of lucky-charms, he stepped on something hard, eliciting a string of swear words, all in varying languages. He scowled at his foot, his eyes scanning the floor to see what it had been.

 

It must have been the remote—since the television had blared to life, playing some random news show.

 

L groaned, groping around the cluttered floor for the remote. The television was monotonous background noise, and L barely registered what the newscaster was saying. He didn’t normally watch the news—happy to live in his narrow, mundane world, unaware of what was going on elsewhere.

 

A hurricane in South America. A serial killer in England. A dog who learned to count. The same old shit.

 

Only one thing caught L’s attention: a string of murders of Japanese gangsters. The newscasters obviously thought it was unimportant, since it was mentioned it briefly, quickly returning to other, more relevant topics. L looked up automatically, taking a few steps closer to the screen.

 

Only minimal detail was given—and L soon realized the television would barely cover more than the most basic facts. He quickly switched it off, and reached for his laptop, which stood whirring on the coffee table.

 

When he searched for ‘Yakuza Murders’ most of the results were in Japanese. Obviously, the deaths hadn’t caught national attention, but there was at least more information than what CNN had offered.  

L clicked on the first result.

 

**_SIX BODIES FOUND IN ALLEYWAY IN OSAKA_ **

_Last Sunday, the bodies of six men were found in an alleyway outside a warehouse in south Osaka._

_Three of the victims have been identified as Kimi Yamato, Ashida Okakura and Satashi Nakamura. According to various sources, Yamoto and Okakura had rumored ties with the Ohba-gumi, a surreptitious boryokudan Yakuza syndicate, about which little is known. None of the other bodies have been identified. Autopsies say the cause of death were bullet wounds._

_The deaths have been linked to the murder of Kyousuke Higuchi, a Yotsuba executive with alleged ties to the criminal underworld. The Yotsuba is currently being investigated for other links to the Ohba-gumi, or any other syndicates of the Yakuza._

__

The bodies of two unidentified men were also found in Shibuya last month, both of which were linked by the police to the cooking of Methamphetamine, Their third partner has been missing for four weeks, and experts—

 

L closed the laptop and shoved it away. It was nothing, he told himself, people died all of the time in the world of the Yakuza. Yet each time L heard about, his blood ran cold and he double bolted the doors.

 

He’d have to distract himself. It was one of the few times he wished he was at work instead of at home; milling about his apartment all day would hardly help his mental health.

 

Perhaps it was time to talk to Light again.

 

* * *

 

L knocked sharply on Light’s door, shifting nervously from foot to foot After a long minute, he was getting ready to leave, but the door swung ajar before he could.

 

“Oh,” Light said, his eyes widened in surprise “Hi.”

 

“Hello.” L said. His voice was hoarser than he’d thought it to be.

 

Neither of them spoke, but Light’s eyes flitted down to the two boxes cradled in L’s arms.

 

“Uhhh…”

 

L gestured to the boxes, cracking a slightly wan smile. “I brought pizza.”

 

Light laughed softly—perhaps to make things feel less awkward. “In that case, come in.”

 

Light’s apartment was immaculate as ever. It was so familiar at this point, it didn’t feel like going into someone else’s house. It was so familiar, in fact, that L’s eyebrows immediately raised at the sight of scattered pamphlets and newspapers across the table—the mess was so unlike Light.

 

Light seemed to notice his puzzlement. “I’m trying to find a job.” He explained.

 

L nodded, placing the pizza boxes on the table, carefully avoiding the papers. “Don’t bother with newspapers. You’ll do better online.”

 

“I did that too. Just… trying to cover all ground.” Light smiled thinly. “I get bored, you know? I hate doing nothing all day.”

 

“I understand. I get that feeling too.”

 

L hated the small talk—but he didn’t know what else to say or do. After a few seconds, he inhaled, preparing himself to speak.

 

“Look, Light. I didn’t want this to be awkward. I hate talking to you like I barely know you.”

 

“It’s not awkward.” Light insisted, but he didn’t look convinced.

 

“It’s awkward. I didn’t want to make it awkward. I’m sorry.”

 

“You don’t have to apologize, because it’s not awkward.”

 

“Yes, it is. And we’re going to watch _Cinderella_ and eat pizza to make it less awkward.”

 

For the first time, Light looked genuinely surprised.  “You’re willing to watch a Disney movie?”

 

“Yes. And, if you don’t feel like it, I’m willing to…” L gulped, “…go out. To a restaurant. Or something.”

 

“Shit, you _are_ dedicated.” Light grinned. “But it’s alright. I don’t really want to go out anyway.”

 

“Thank God.”

 

“I do have a condition, though.” Light said, his eyes playful as they regarded L’s.

 

“And what would that be?”

 

“We go to your apartment to watch it.”

 

L considered the condition. It wasn’t unreasonable, and L knew his neuroticism surrounding his personal details was irrational—there was nothing incriminating there that Light would feasibly be able to find.

 

“Alright.” He replied, after a short pause.

 

“Oh,” Light said, a look of vague amusement painting his face. “I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

 

“What? Do you think I have something to hide?” L joked, only half-kidding.

 

“No…  it’s just that I thought you’d….” Light’s sentence trailed off, and he looked past L. “Never mind. Where exactly _do_ you live, anyway?”

 

“Around the corner. It’s annoying that you made me walk all the way here, though.” L grumbled.

 

Light smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

 

L lead him through the hallway and then through the street, asking him how he had been, telling him mundane things about work, happy to talk just as Light was happy to listen.

 

“You know,” Light said as they walked, “This sort of reminds me of the first time we met.”

 

L snorted. “I didn’t take you for the kind of person who would resort to such clichéd lines.”

 

“I don’t mean it like that. I feel like I’m always following you somewhere. I followed you on that first night, even when I thought you were crazy.”

 

“You thought I was crazy when we first met?”

 

“Well… not crazy, necessarily. Eccentric, definitely.”

 

“Do you think I’m crazy—no, _eccentric_ now?”

 

“Not crazy, really. Just quirky.”

 

“…Thanks.” L mumbled. “That sounds backhanded.”

 

Light rolled his eyes and smiled at his shoes. “How much further are we?”

 

“Around the corner. Impatient boy.”

 

L’s apartment was on the third floor, and although it was messy, it was relatively big. Stacks of DVDs lined the walls, the furniture was crooked and aged, and dirty clothes covered the floor. Nonetheless, Light seemed fascinated, his eyes wide as he took in every aspect.

 

“Shit,” he said, “this place is bigger than I expected.”

 

L shrugged. “My job pays quite well.”

 

“Makes my apartment look like shit.” Light eyed the clothes on the floor. “Well… at least in size.”

 

“That’s ru—” L stopped himself. “Actually, I can’t deny that. I know it’s messy. Some of us have more important things to do.”

 

“It’s a nice place, though. Where’s the television?” Light eyed him, “You do have a television, right?”

 

“What do you think? And there’s one in the other room, and one in my bedroom.”

 

Before L could finish his sentence, Light had walked past him and looked around

 

Light seemed to be ignoring him, instead wandering from room to room, occasionally adding a deadpan remark about how messy it was.

 

“Shit, this is big.” He said from behind the door, almost reverently. L trailed after him, leaning lazily against the doorframe.

 

“Not really…” He said modestly.

 

“No, really, it is. Considering you’re like, twenty-five.”

 

“Do I… look twenty-five?”

 

Light turned to look at him. “You’re not seriously concerned about how old you look, are you?”

 

“No, I didn’t mean it in that way.” L frowned. “I never told you I was twenty-five.”

 

Perhaps it’s was L’s imagination, but Light’s face seemed to look panicked for a moment, but the change in expression was so rapid L couldn’t be sure if it had definitely happened. “Lucky guess, I suppose.” He laughed nervously. “I mean, I knew you were a good few years out of university. I’m pretty sure you mentioned it once or twice, didn’t you?”

 

L was sure he hadn’t, but he decided to drop it. It was probably just a convenient guess; he didn’t need to be paranoid.

 

Light hummed as he surveyed L’s room, running his fingers over the spines of books and DVDs. L felt somewhat awkward standing with Light in the same room as he slept. It was probably childish of him; Light was just looking around. With him. Next to the bed.

 

“This TV is fucking huge. Your really are well paid.” Light sounded unusually impressed.

 

“As I said, it’s adequate.”

 

Light wandered around the room aimlessly, his smile almost dopey. “So… my choice of film tonight?”

 

“I’ll probably regret this, but, yes.”

 

“I pick _Sleeping Beauty_.”

 

“Ah, _Citizen Kane_ and _The Godfather_ can eat their hearts out.”

 

“It’s not the best story but…” Light shrugged. “I like the animation It’s nice to look at—it reminds be of being nine.”

 

“Since when do you have an appreciation for art?”

 

Light scowled, “I’ve always had an appreciation for art.”

 

“How come you’re so dismissive of films, then?”

 

“I’m not dismissive. They’re just not to my taste. Children’s movies are fun—I don’t need your judgement. Plus, they’re shorter and easier to follow.”

 

“I don’t have _Sleeping Beauty_ on DVD, but I can download it. Unless that’s just too corrupting for your squeaky-clean views of the criminal world.”

 

“The pizza is probably cold. Should I re-heat it?”

 

“If you want. I’ll get the film.”

 

Light smiled at the floor. “I’m actually surprised you’re going along with this.”

 

“I’m adaptable.”

 

Light disappeared into the kitchen, leaving L staring after him.

 

“I’ll get plates out,” Light called through, “where are they?”

“Don’t bother. Haven’t you ever eaten Pizza out of a box?”

 

“To be honest,” Light said, “before coming to New York, I’d never even eaten Pizza.”

 

“Get the fuck out.”

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“You’re a dirty liar, Light Asahi, and I don’t believe you.”

 

Light poked his head around the door, grinning. “I’m not.”

 

“What did you even do before I met you?”

 

For a second, Light’s beam seemed to falter. “Oh, you know. This and that.”

 

He vanished behind the wall again, but L’s eyes remained transfixed. After finally having broken out of the hypnosis; he took out his laptop and began searching for _Sleeping Beauty_ online.

 

* * *

“You need to calm down.”

 

B breathed out in a hiss, his chest heaving like he’d just ran a marathon. “Calm down?” He repeated, “Our entire world is crashing down, and he’s on fucking _holiday_.”

 

“Our entire world is hardly falling down.” Lawliet said dismissively, smoothing the creases in his trouser pants. “Stop being dramatic.”

 

“The mainstream media are paying attention. They’ll try and find you—or at least find out information about you.”

 

“They try. But they won’t succeed and they’ll give up. We have more important things to worry about.”

 

B looked like a live wire—tense and almost shaking from stress. Although Lawliet knew he put up a cool frontier; he was definitely breakable. B was like wood—you could beat at him for hours and hours until your hands bled, but once there was a splinter, he fell apart in seconds.

That was one thing he missed about L. If B was wood L was rubber—beating at him him wouldn’t work, because he’d only stretch and adapt to compensate.

 

“We can’t stay here.” B said, “You should leave Japan.”

 

“No. How am I supposed to order people from there?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” B deadpanned, “maybe a phone? At least leave the mainland.”

 

“I don’t trust phones. What if it’s tapped?”

 

B made a frustrated noise. “For fu—” He stopped himself, rapidly closing his mouth. “Well, we can’t stay in this house, that’s for sure.”

 

B’s eyes travelled around the room, eventually landing on a photograph standing on the mantelpiece—one of the few personal items Lawliet indulged in. In the photo, a younger Lawliet stood with a pretty, petite Japanese woman, who held a newborn in her thin arms. The quality was poor—decent cameras were impossible to come across at the time in Russia.

 

“We have to kill Lavrentiy.” B said flatly, tearing his eyes away.

 

“We should apprehend him first.”

 

“You know him. He’ll never listen. If he tells the Takada-gumi—”

 

“He won’t. I’ll make sure he won’t.” Lawliet assured, keeping his voice even.

 

“The only way you can make sure of that is by killing him.”

 

“Byung-ho.” Lawliet said curtly. B’s face snapped up at the usage of his birth name, and he flashed a savage grimace. No one had called him by his birth name since he was twelve years old. “I know you don’t want to see him dead.”

 

“I don’t care,” B lied, turning back towards the window. Only the outlines of neighbouring buildings were visible as the day bled into twilight. “He’s a traitor. He can rot in a ditch for all I care.”

 

Lawliet didn’t respond, only shrugging and returning to his drink.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll just be a couple minutes,” Light called through from the bathroom. “You can start the movie without me if you want.”

 

“It’s fine. Do you mind if I finish the pizza?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

L could hear the sound of water running, and meandered over to the table to poke at the remnants of food. After L accidentally spilling soda down Light’s shirt—Light had insisted on taking a shower before they started the film, leaving L to his own devices.

 

L was broken out of his thoughts by a buzz from the other side of the room. He looked up, recognizing that the buzzing was coming from the inside of Light’s jacket pocket, draped over armchair.  

 

“Light, your phone’s ringing!” L called out, hoping that his voice would carry through to the bathroom. Evidently, since there was no response, it didn’t.  

 

L frowned, fighting the urge to pick up the phone himself. Maybe he should pick it up just to say that Light was in the shower, and that he’d call whomever it was back. Or was that overstepping the line?

 

He called uncertainly for Light again, but still, no one replied.  

 

The glow from the phone was visible from outside of the pocket, and L strode towards it, reaching out, ready to answer. Just before he could pick it up, the ringing stopped.

 

L glared at the coat, half expecting the phone to start buzzing again. It didn’t. L shot a fleeting glance at the door, just to check that Light wasn’t hovering behind him. Unthinkingly, he snatched Light’s phone out of his pocket and examined it.

 

Instead of the modern, expensive-looking phone he’d expected from someone who mooched off his parents, L saw a flip phone that couldn’t have cost more than twenty dollars. He’d seen Light’s phone before, but he could have sworn it was something much more modern than… this. It seemed strange that Light of all people would have a phone that looked like someone had reached through the TV screen and grabbed a prop off _Friends_.

 

The water stopped, and in a panic, L shoved the phone back into Light’s coat and stepped quickly away. He wished he could say that it was the first time he’d gone through an acquaintance’s phone, but it was actually quite a common occurrence. Whoever L talked to, wherever he went, fear tugged at his thoughts and told him to _be careful be careful don’t let anyone know anything about you don’t let them know be careful be careful._

 

Most people quickly discovered that they didn’t care about him enough to try to get past that, and L let them think that that was what he wanted. Perhaps what he really wanted was someone to push past all of that and demand to know him.

 

“Curious?” A voice said slyly. L looked over his shoulder to see Light standing in the doorway, smiling coyly.

 

“No,” L lied. “It was ringing. I was going to bring it through to you.”

 

L’s eyes shifted downwards slightly, skimming briefly over Light’s bare chest, eventually landing on the towel that was slung low on his hips.  

 

“I’ll get changed.” Light said quickly, apparently noticing L’s wandering eyes. “You… get the film on.”

 

It could have been L’s imagination, but Light’s ears seemed to be tinged pink.

 

L obeyed, quickly clicking open the illegal file download of _Sleeping Beauty_.

 

Light left for the bathroom and reappeared later, having changed into pants and sweater, his hair still slightly damp. He flopped down onto L’s bed, looking right at home.

 

L perched on the end on the mattress and clicked play, his posture stiff.

 

Light snorted, and prodded him in the side. “Can you lean back?” He said, “I can’t see the screen.”

 

L hesitated, but after some consideration, shifted back onto the mattress so that he was sitting by Light’s side. Light reached over and switched the bedside lamp off, plunging the two of them into darkness.

 

The screen illuminated Light’s face, making his eyes look unusually vacant and ethereal.

L did his best to switch his brain off, allowing colorful images of princesses, kings and dragons to flash before his eyes.

 

“I don’t think it’s the best story, out of all the Disney movies.” Light said dreamily, after the film had been playing for half an hour, “But each frame looks like a piece of art, don’t you think?”

 

L couldn’t disagree. There was something oddly gothic about the whole thing; he attempted to refocus on the film, but he could feel Light’s eyes on the side of his face.

 

“What?” He muttered, watching Light from the corner of his eye.

 

“Are you… crying?” Light asked.

 

“What? No. You’re crying. Shut up.”

 

Light moved closer, enough for his breath to tickle L’s neck. “Yes, you are. Why are you crying? I mean, I’d understand if we were watching _The Lion King_ , but—”

 

“It’s not the story,” L said flatly, “it’s just… kids’ movies.”

 

“What about them?”

 

“They depress me.”

 

“They _depress_ you? But kids’ movies are the film equivalent of comfort food, how on earth do they depress you?”

 

“Happy children. Nice parents. Idyllic childhoods, you know, all those things I never had.” There was a distinct edge of bitterness to L’s voice, despite his attempts to smooth it out.

 

Light was silent, evidently subdued by the blunt statement. L immediately regretted it—he’d hardly wanted for things to be tenser than they already were.

 

“I’m… sorry.” Light said. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

 

“You’re not insensitive, trust me. I’m just…” L’s sentence teetered off, but they both knew what he meant to communicate.

 

“Well, you still promised we’d watch it.” Light said. L could hear the smile in his voice. “You haven’t even seen Maleficent turn into a fucking dragon yet. A dragon, L.”

 

Light reached forward to switch the film back on, and the picture unfroze. True to Light’s word, L watched the principle villain transform into a purple and black dragon, oddly stark against the luminescent curls of green dancing across the screen.

 

He suddenly felt a weight on his shoulder, and he looked down to see Light’s head resting there. He sighed softly, but made no attempt to move him. It wasn’t exactly… strange, was it? Whilst they weren’t exactly _dating_ they were… something. The show of intimacy wasn’t really that much to analyze.

 

The film began to draw towards its conclusion, and Light hadn’t moved. L didn’t comment—the silence was far easier.

 

“God, I haven’t seen this movie in years.” He sat up, the weight leaving L’s shoulder. He yawned and stretched, leaning to turn the lights off. “I’m really tired. Watching movies and sitting in the dark always does.”

 

“You can go to sleep if you want.” L said suddenly. Light looked up, looking as bemused by L’s words L felt.

 

More surprising still, was the murmur of ‘okay’, and Light pulling a section of the duvet over his head. L watched him, frozen and unsure of what to do or say next. Light had disappeared in a mound of cushions and pillows, only the top of his head visible.

 

“I’m glad you’re here, Light.” L said impulsively, his face immediately heating up as he spoke. He hurriedly switched the bedside lamp off, making the both of them near indistinguishable.

 

Light twitched from under the duvet. “I like being here.”

 

L sunk further into the sheets, doing his best to switch his mind completely off. Instead, in a fleeting moment, he thought of Light’s phone buzzing on the counter. Something inside of him stung.

 

“You have a new phone.” He murmured into the darkness. The mound shifted slightly.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Your phone. It’s different from the last time I saw it.”

 

Light mumbled something indistinguishable, muffling his face further in the pillow.

 

Uncharacteristically exhausted, L dropped it and leaned into the pillows, doing his best to fall asleep.  

 

* * *

 

_They were lying on L’s bed, and if B moved just an inch, he’d be able to feel L’s skin against his._

_L was smoking. L smoked a lot nowadays. B had to admit he looked effortlessly cool while doing it, like a 50s film star or a spy.  When he’d started B had snorted and told him he’d get lung cancer, and that his lungs would look like the cautionary ones they printed on cigarette packets. L had rolled his eyes like B was a doting mother scolding him for not tidying his room, and taken another drag._

_Even though, realistically, L’s room_ did _need tidying, B loved it nonetheless. L had cut out fragments of newspaper articles that interested him and plastered them haphazardly on the walls, along with film and music posters and random posted-notes he’d written to himself._

_“I don’t want to stay here.” L said softly. He moved from his reclining position, propping himself up against the headboard._

_“What do you mean?” B asked timidly._

_L’s eyes were distant, and B wondered, not for the first time, what he was thinking about._

_“I’m going to leave. And never come back.”_

_“Your father wouldn’t let you.”_

_“Who says I’d tell him?”_

_B was shocked into silence, mute at the weight of what L was implying. “But…”_

_“Why not, B? Me, you, out of Tokyo for good. Away from all of this… for good.”_

_B considered. It wasn’t as if he exactly liked what they had to do—but he didn’t feel as if he much choice, either. Alexei Lawliet had eyes and ears everywhere, and people who crossed him always ended up regretting it. But then again, if anyone was smart enough to escape the tangled world of the Yakuza, it was L._

_“You and me?”_

_L grinned crookedly. “You and me.”_

_B was good at intimidating people. It was a skill he’d acquired as he’d gotten older. L was good at getting what he wanted through social manipulation and lying, but B was much more upfront about it. It wasn’t difficult to tap into what someone was most afraid of and use it against them, but that never seemed to work with L. Either L wasn’t scared of anything, or L wasn’t scared of B._

_The clock ticked from next to the bed, and for a prolonged moment, B just stared at the side of L’s face; the aristocratic curve of his long nose, the sweeping expanse of pale skin and the arch of his widow’s peak._

_“Alright,” B said eventually, doing his best to push the uncertainty out of his voice, “sounds like a plan.”_

* * *

  

L woke up with a painful start, his head pounding and his heart racing. His eyes darted around, landing on the mound of sheets next to him. His chest heaved as his lucidity slowly trickled back to him, murmuring to himself in a quiet mantra that it was a dream, it was just a dream.

 

His restlessness evidently hadn’t disturbed Light, since the teenager hadn’t shifted from the ball he was currently curled into. L rubbed his temples, flashes of his dreams appearing before him every time he closed his eyes.

 

Birds sung from outside, and L stumbled out of bed and threw the curtains open. It must have been around five in the morning, since L could see the sun peeking from behind buildings. He hated waking up at this time—it was too early to be comfortable, but too late for it to be worth going back to sleep.

 

L scratched the back of his head and meandered through to the kitchen, deciding that he might as well just start his day earlier than normal. He flicked the kettle on automatically, and reached for his cigarettes and a lighter, both of which were lying on the kitchen counter.

 

He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and turned the television on out of habit, heading towards the cabinet over the sink to make himself some cereal. As he did so, his caught sight of Light’s khaki jacket, still slung over one of kitchen chairs, the bulge where he kept his phone visible.  

 

He started picking at dry cereal from the box, practicing throwing them in the air and catching them in his mouth in a futile attempt to distract himself.

 

Before he could stop himself, he’d reached for Light’s pocket and taken the phone out, examining it from between his fingers. L flicked it open and scanned the screen, noticing immediately that it read ‘7 missed calls’ and ’32 messages’, all from Light’s mother.

 

L’s hands shook as he considered whether or not to open them. He doubted there was anything of much interest, but nonetheless, he decided _looking_ couldn’t do that much harm.

 

Light had mentioned his mother once or twice in passing, but from what L had heard she didn’t seem like the type to obsessively call and text him—unless some family emergency had occurred in the middle of the night.

 

Suddenly, L felt incredibly guilty.

 

Light had a code protecting it, but L surpassed it after a few attempts. Truthfully, he was impressed; with most people he could do it with just one try. L opened the most recent message from Light’s mother.

 

_Call Me._

 

L frowned. Something must have happened if Light’s mother felt it was too important to tell him over text. He scrolled through all of the contacts—nothing particularly interesting. Girls. Family Members.

 

Light’s mother, strangely enough, hadn’t left any voice messages. Only all of the same aloof, obtuse texts and numerous missed calls.

 

Unable to stop himself, L dialed Light’s mother’s number. He could say that Light was asleep at the moment, but he could take a message if it was really important, which it sounded like it was. That was perfectly reasonable.

 

The other line began to ring, and L waited, his heart racing. Eventually, the other line was picked up. For the first few seconds, all L could hear was the sound of breathing.

 

“Hello?” A voice said irritably, after a long wait.

 

L’s blood ran cold.

 

“Hello?” The voice repeated, sounding increasingly volatile. “Light? What the fuck?”

 

L snapped the phone shut, his hands shaking. He was half tempted to snap the thing in two and crush it beneath his feet—but he knew it was pointless. The facts wouldn’t disappear.

 

Why was B calling Light?

 

* * *

 

_“Are you alright sir?” The flight attendant asked, her wide, brown eyes staring at L from underneath a navy blue sailor hat._

_“Yes. I’m alright.” L lied, doing his best to keep his voice as even as possible. He pressed his hand into his thigh, in a partially futile attempt to stop it from shaking._

_The flight attendant looked unsure, but, with a small nod L assumed was supposed to be reassuring, carried on down the aisle anyway._

_“First time flying?” The woman next to him said dryly. Although she sounded pleasant enough; her words were edged with laughing venom._

_L didn’t return her smile. “No.” He said flatly. “I’m just not really good with heights.”_

_The woman nodded as if she understood, and, apparently losing interest, returned to her book._

_L wasn’t afraid of the plane, though. As far as he was concerned, the whirring of the engines preparing for takeoff was the most comforting noise he’d ever heard. He was shaking from the pure rush of adrenalin in his veins, and the knowledge that he was officially on the run._

_He thought about what London would be like. He thought about what wherever he went after London would be like. He thought about his father. He thought about his mother. He thought about what his father had done. He thought about which movie he’d watch during the flight. He thought about B. He thought about what B would do once he found out. He tried not to think about B._

_Once the plane lifted off, L couldn’t help but grimace, something lurching in his stomach when he realized that around about now, his ‘family’ would have likely noticed his absence._

_“Are you going to London for vacation?” The woman asked disinterestedly, as if trying to fill the silence._

_“No.” L said. “I’m going to stay with a friend for a few months.”_

_The plane took off from the ground, soaring higher, and L watched the buildings and cars below them transform into dots until they were no longer significant. He exhaled shakily, and closed his eyes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha... sorry for the wait?
> 
> Writer's block, y'see. At least there was a vaguely interesting development, I guess.


	8. i'd rather not go (back to the old house)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) it is i

L knocked sharply on the door, stepping back quickly as he waited for someone to answer. He began to rethink his decision, debating on whether or not he could find someone who could do the job just as well. Before he could, the door swung open, revealing a short, dark-haired Asian woman.

Naomi’s eyes widened and she averted her eyes, looking troubled. Her hair was tied in a messy ponytail, and she was dressed in an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants.

“Ryuga? What are you doing here?”

“I need your help.” L said flatly.

Naomi’s brows knitted together. “Okay, firstly, why would you need my help, and secondly, I cannot fucking believe the great Hideki Ryuga is asking for help.”

L ignored her comment. “I can trust you, can’t I?”

She eyed him suspiciously, biting the inside of her cheek. For a second, L though she’d turn him away, but instead she sighed and stepped backwards, indicating that he could come inside.  

“This is my day off,” she grumbled, “this better be good.”

Her apartment was marginally tidier than L’s—but that wasn’t saying much. Ancient-looking cushions were scattered across the couches, a dusty rug thrown across the floor and piles of old papers hiding in every corner.

“Sorry for the mess,” Naomi murmured, kicking a dirty shirt aside. “Do you want a coffee?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

She smiled weakly. “Two creams and five sugars, right?”

“…Correct.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and L trailed after her, his hands deep in his pockets. He watched her prepare the coffee, silent as he stood in the doorway.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” She asked mildly, walking back into the living room, two steaming cups of coffee in each of her hands. He set them both down on the coffee table and looked up at L expectantly.

He shook his head. “I took a day off work. This is important.”

“Shit, you are serious.” Naomi took a long sip of her coffee, seating herself on the couch. “You’re going to tell me what happened, aren’t you? Because you’re starting to scare me.”

“I’ll tell you… parts.”

“Parts?” Naomi laughed shortly, putting her mug back down. “It’s always parts and fragments with you, isn’t it, L?” She paused, “Never the whole story.”

L’s fingers brushed against the table, and he traced patterns into the wood. “You know more about me than most.” He admitted.

“So… what’s the information you  _ are  _ going to divulge?” Naomi asked, her voice dry.

“I… this may be hard to believe.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

“No, I’m being serious. You may want to sit down.”

Naomi rolled her eyes. “I think I’ll be alright.”

“If you’re sure.” L shrugged. He paused, taking a shallow breath in preparation of what he was about to say. “I’m… I  _ was _ involved with the Japanese mafia.”

Naomi stared at him blankly. “Oh, that  _ is _ surprising.”

“I know. I told you you’d need to sit down.”

“I always assumed it would be the Russian mafia.”

“I’m very—what?”

Naomi exhaled, looking worn-out. “It’s not obvious, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“…But you still realized.”

“I’m an FBI agent, Ryuga. I do have passable deductive skills. If it makes you feel better, it would have completely gone over anyone else’s head.”

“It didn’t go over yours.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not anyone.” Naomi paused, scratching the back of her neck and looking uncomfortable. “Besides, Ryuga. You had a gun in your cereal. Your fucking cereal. And another one behind your toilet.”

“You found that one too?”

“So why do you need my help? What does a mobster like you want with me?”

“…I’m not a mobster.” L insisted, but hesitated. “Not anymore, at least.”

“And you need my help because…?”

“I left the Yakuza years ago, but I think they may have found me.”

Naomi frowned softly, wrapping her hands so tightly around her mug that her knuckles went white. “How do you know?”

“It’s a long story. I need you to background check the name Light Asahi.”

* * *

 

Light was a little sorry that L wasn’t there when he woke up—he even searched around the apartment for a while, wondering if he was curled up somewhere, doing whatever L did in his free time.

But there was no sign of him—presumably he’d headed off to work. Light was still too groggy from sleep to bring himself to get dressed and leave, reasoning to himself that he’d make himself some coffee and leave after that.

Habitually, as Light waited for his coffee to brew he began to tidy up the atrociously messy apartment around him. He had no idea how L—or anyone for that matter—could live like this. As he was doing so, his phone began to buzz. Unsurprisingly, he saw it was B.

“Hello?” He asked wearily.

Light’s answer was met by a string of profuse cursing, and what sounded like gunshots.

“B—what the fuck?”

“Did you pocket dial me? Why haven’t you answered my calls, you khaki-loving fuck?”

“Woah, slow down. What are you talking about?” Light said tiredly, slumping against the counter and rubbing his temples.

“Why did you call me last night?” B said slowly, as if he were doing his best to keep himself from yelling.

“What?”

Light could hear B sighing heavily into the receiver, almost completely deadened by the sounds of voices in the background.

“A few hours ago,” He said thinly, “you called me, didn’t say anything, and then hung up. And I heard you breathing, so I know you meant to.”

“I didn’t call you. Do you really think I’d subject myself to your conversation without it being a life or death matter?”

“Yeah, it definitely did. Unless you fucked up, somewhere.” B laughed humorlessly. “But you don’t fuck up, do you, Yagami?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Unless you were stupid enough to make it easy to get onto your phone. Which, of course, you’re not, are you?”

“What? No! Obviously I’m not that fucking dense, do you think I wouldn’t have a code on it?”

“Well, I  _ do _ think you’re dense, but that’s beside the point. L’s smart, he could have gotten in.”

“Why would he? As far as I know, he doesn’t know anything.”

B snorted. “As far as you know?”

“There’s no way he could. I had locking systems on it—several.”

“L’s smart.”

“I can handle him.”

“No, you can’t, Yagami. You can’t learn street smarts from a book.”

“Th—”

“Actually, do you know what’s a good question?” B interjected, “Why your phone at his apartment at that time in the morning?”

Light was silent, wracking his brains for an excuse. There was no way B would believe that Light had stayed in L’s apartment—in his  _ bed _ , nonetheless—but nothing had happened, even if it was the truth.

“Uhhh…”

“You know what? I don’t want to know. I’m just about to get on the flight there.”

“You’re  _ what _ ?”

“What are you going to tell me? That you don’t need help?”

“I don’t!”

“Well, then in that case, you’re better off than us.” B said bitterly. “People are dying. We’ve all left Tokyo—it’s not safe for us there anymore. I’m coming to get you. And L.”

“You’ve made that sound very simplistic.”

“That’s because that’s exactly how it’s going to be.”

Light closed his eyes and rubbed circles into his temple, patterns appearing behind his eyelids. “When are you coming to… sort things out, exactly?”

“I’ll be there in the next twelve hours.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Wash your fucking mouth out, Light. Ever heard of not using the Lord’s name in vain?”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Can’t you give me  _ any _ more time? Don’t you think it’s too  soon?”

B chuckled coldly. “More time? It’s the end of fucking days, Light!”

“It’s not the end of days. Stop being dramatic.”

There was more noise from the other line. “Speak for yourself, kiddo. Is L there?”

“…No, he isn’t.”

“Search his apartment.”

Light paused, considering the suggestion. Really, it was the least he could do, since he had been given the opportunity to be alone in L’s apartment. Still, he felt reluctant. He normally had no qualms about other people’s privacy; perhaps it was to do with the fact that he’d sort of gotten to know L as a person.

“What if he gets back?” He said quietly into the receiver.

“What, where did he say he went?”

“I didn’t see him leave. I assume he went to work.”

“Then you have plenty of time!”

Light grimaced, surveying the room around him. It seemed very empty without L in it; morning light poured through, setting the particles of dust drifting through the air alight. It reminded Light a little of a haunted house he’d seen in one of the numerous films L had made him watch; he half expected something to jump out at him.

“We can talk later,” Light said through gritted teeth. B began to say something, but Light hung up before he could, shoving his phone quickly into his back pocket.

He wasted no time, rummaging through every drawer and cabinet. In the brief once-over he did, he found nothing of interest, but Light wasn’t surprised. He knew L was far too intelligent to make it  _ that _ easy.

After that, he briefly searched through the bedroom, but he still found nothing. He did the same to the remaining rooms—all to no avail. After he’d looked through every other corner, he returned to the place L frequented the most—the kitchen.

The first place he looked was perhaps the most romantic place to hide something—the floorboards. Light tugged and pushed at them—but none of them appeared to be loose.

It was when he was searching through the cereal cabinet that he noticed, whilst he was pushing the boxes aside, the extra weight one of them seemed to have. He frowned, pulling it out. Definitely heavier than the others.

Light reached his hand in and dug around, his fingers eventually brushing against something hard and cold. He froze, his heart dropping.

He emptied the contents on the table, pushing the grains of cereal aside until he had it in his hands—a cereal-covered Beretta M9. Light ran his fingers over the matte-black surface, the weight familiar in his hands.

It was a decent model. Not difficult to find in America. Part of Light was surprised L didn’t have something fancier.

Light stood there for what could have been minutes, staring and the gun and wondering what to do next.

Eventually, he snapped out of his trance-like state, shoving the handgun into his bag and springing into action.

He rummaged thoroughly through every room, through every crevice and groove, searching for any more weapons. Eventually he stumbled across a second gun, identical to the first, in the tank behind the toilet. Light had found it after noticing a few loose screws.

And if there were any more than that, Light couldn’t find them.

His hands shaking, Light tidied up the apartment again the best he could, the two guns stashed in his messenger bag weighing him down. Breathing heavily, he began looking through the papers stuffed in the drawer’s of L’s study.

* * *

 

L hovered behind Naomi, watching her type rapidly, doing his best to keep up. It was surprisingly difficult; for all his genius, L had never really  _ got  _ computers.

“Should I do something?” He asked Naomi hopefully, feeling useless hovering behind her watching, unable to do anything.

“No. It’s fine.” She replied, dismissive.

“Okay. That’s… fine.”

“You don’t like not doing anything for once, do you?”

“No, I’m fine. Just being polite.”

“Polite?” L couldn’t see Naomi’s face—but he was sure she was smiling mockingly. “As if you’re ever polite.”

L opened his mouth to protest—but quickly closed it. She wasn’t wrong.

Naomi clicked and typed some more, and L fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt, the room silent aside of the tapping of the keyboard.

“Look,” Naomi said after a while, tapping the screen with the back of her nail.

“What is it?”

A picture of four people sitting around a table was up on the screen, one of whom L recognized as Light. The other three were all girls, with smiling, made-up faces. L snorted when he saw it—it was unsurprising that Light was surrounded by three pretty girls.

Naomi pointed to the photo. “It’s pretty convincing, but not perfect.” She said. Her finger skimmed over the area around Light’s head. “See how this bit is a little less clear than the rest? This is photoshopped. It would be difficult to notice if you didn’t have an eye for it.”

L furrowed his brow, focusing on the area that Naomi pointed out. Sure enough, it didn’t quite fit into the rest of the photo—although L wouldn’t have noticed it if it hadn’t been pointed out to him.

“So this is from Facebook?”

“Yeah. I didn’t find much else.” She turned to look at him. “Generally, Facebook is the bare minimum for social media. There are a few more photos on here, and the vast majority are pretty much perfect.” Naomi grinned crookedly. “There are always cracks, though.”

“I could kiss you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Did you look up Light Asahi?”

“Yeah. I went through the entire database of Tokyo University—no one called Light Asahi has ever attended there.”

Somehow, L was unsurprised. “Okay...”

He paced over to the other side of the room, running his hand through his hair listlessly.

Naomi regarded him, bit the side of her cheek, and shut the laptop lid.

“Ryuga,” she said lowly, “who is he to you?”

“A friend. Or at least I thought he was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because you never had any friends when we were together. I’m sorry that this rare instance turned out so poorly.”

“Yes, well.” L turned away with a shrug. “ _ C’est la vie _ .”

He didn’t want to think about Light.

Neither of them spoke, until Naomi snatched up her bag and stood up.

“Something wrong?” L asked dully.

“We need to go back to your apartment; we can conduct the rest from your house. It’s close, right?”

“...Yes.” L mulled over her words. “You’re… suggesting we go through his apartment?”

“What else can we do?” When L didn’t respond, Naomi scowled. “Look, Ryuga, I’m trying to help you. We can catch this kid red-handed if we both put our minds to it. All you need to do is try and get him out his apartment for a few hours, and we can deal with this.”

“Naomi…”

She flashed his a warning glare. “Don’t think you’ll be able to deal with this alone.”

L averted his eyes, shifting his gaze to the scenery outside the window. After their breakup, Naomi had moved to the outskirts of New York—a place much more suburban and calm to what L was used to. Maybe next time he ought to move to a place like this—a place so nondescript no one would bother looking for him there. If there was going to be a next time.

“Alright,” he said finally, “let’s do it.”

* * *

 

Light had gathered the last of his things from L’s apartment, and planned on slipping out without anyone noticing, meaning he would be long gone before L got back from work. His hands shook as he pressed the button for the elevator, and he pressed his palm to the back of his neck in an attempt to sooth the tension there.

He greeted a couple of smiling old-ladies and cordial neighbors on his way down, sniffing at the stench of something acrid in the elevator. He couldn’t wait to be in the fresh air; the indoors was making him feel on edge.

Before he could walk out of the apartment, however, he caught sight of a spindly figure striding through the lobby, an attractive woman in a leather jacket at his side. L’s eyes met his milliseconds after spotting his, and for a short moment, he looked just as panicked as Light felt.

Light gulped, and plastered on a smile.

“Light,” L greeted, just loud enough to be heard. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

The woman regarded him coolly, her face skeptical. L seemed to notice their eyes meeting, and laughed nervously.

“This is Naomi,” he explained, “she’s a friend of mine.”

Light arched his eyebrow at the mention of the word ‘friend’. Naomi certainly didn’t look like the kind of person Light envisioned L spending time with—not that he could picture L spending time with  _ anyone _ out of his own free will.

“I’m his ex-girlfriend, actually.” Naomi said briskly. She took a small step forward, offering her hand. Light shook it, albeit tentatively.  

“Oh, you are?” Light replied, his tone matching hers. “He never mentioned you.”

If Naomi was offended, she didn’t show it. Instead, no one spoke, Naomi exhaling heavily and Light tapping his foot on the marble, avoiding L’s gaze.

L coughed. “I thought you’d be gone by now, Light.”

Light frowned. “Thanks.” He muttered.

“Oh,” Naomi said, glancing between them, an eyebrow raised. “I didn’t realize you were…” She didn’t finish her sentence, flashing L a glower, who seemed suddenly incredibly interested in the floor.

There was an even longer pause.

“Well,” Naomi said. “In that case, I’ll probably go. Call me, Ryuga.”

Light watched her retreat, bemused.

Once Naomi had disappeared out of the lobby door, in wordless agreement, Light followed L through the lobby to the elevator. An elderly woman standing near the door smiled at them mildly, and they both returned the gesture, albeit awkwardly. Their eyes didn’t meet.  

Once they were out, they walked to L’s apartment in silence. Light crossed his arms tightly over his chest, unsure of what was going to happen next.

L unlocked the door, standing to the side to allow Light inside, silently surprised that his hands weren’t shaking. Light smiled at him weakly, and trailed inside.

“Have you eaten?” L asked, his stiff voice breaking the quiet.

“No. I was going to get something from the café opposite, actually.” Light returned. “But then you came back.”

L nodded. “Do you… want some breakfast or lunch? I don’t have much, but—”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll get you something,” L assured, beginning to dig through the cabinets for what he wanted. He reached and ran his hands over the cardboard of the cereal box where he kept his gun, psyching himself up. He hadn’t touched a gun in eight years.

He didn’t have to kill Light—he could just press the barrel of the gun to his head and demand answers. And if Light left him no other option, he could shoot him in the foot to stop him from getting away. And prey that no one would call the cops after hearing gunshots.

L grit his teeth, and stuffed his hand inside.

To his shock, the weight that normally accompanied the box where he kept the weapon was gone; he was certain he kept it here, and a feeling of panic reared its head.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” L lied, “nothing’s wrong.”

He turned around to meet Light’s eyes, and they studied one another silently. No one knew, save Naomi, that he kept a gun there. Whoever had found it must have been scared enough of him to put it somewhere where they thought he wouldn’t be able to find it.

Light’s stare was stolid—but it gave him away.

L glanced down to Light’s messenger bag, and then back to Light. Light watched him sharply, and for a prolonged moment, neither of them moved.

They lunged for the bag at the same time, and during that time, Light managed to push the bag off the table, making it skid across the floor. Light began to run towards him, but L managed to get a kick in, sending him crashing to the floor. He took the opportunity to straddle and deliver a decisive punch to Light’s side, eliciting a pained groan and a definitive cracking noise.

He may not have been utilizing his old skills—but that didn’t been he’d forgotten them.

Just before L could make a grab for the bag, Light had sunk his nails into L’s arm, making him cry out. Another hard-delivered punch to his stomach, and L fell back, cursing as he did so.

Light tore the bag off the floor, fumbling through it until he pulled out what he was looking for. He made a move for the fire escape, but L was quickly pulled himself to his feet, grabbing him by his arms and slamming him into the coffee table. Light cried out when his spine met with the corner, his leg spasming.  The glass lamp went crashing to the floor, shattering to thousands of shimmering pieces and their feet.

L grabbed one of the guns fumbling for the safety and leaving Light to tumble to the floor. But before he could go too far, Light launched himself at him, grabbing the bag from his hand and jumping out onto the fire escape. To L’s surprise, he didn’t attempt to run, instead pushing the guns of the ledge.

L swore loudly, grabbing Light by the hair and pulling him back inside. He wrestled him to the floor, his hands clasped tightly around his throat, steadily constricting.

“You may have gotten rid of the guns,” He hissed through clenched teeth, “but don’t think I won’t beat the shit out of you with my bare hands.”

“You need to listen to reason.” Light garbled, his face gradually purpling. He squirmed under L, but L kept his legs firmly pinned down.

“I am listening to reason. I’d rather kill you than let you take me back.”

Light clawed at L’s hands, struggling further. L punched him hard in the face, throwing his head to the side. Light tensed, his eyes flickering back to L, breathing rapidly through his now bloody nose.

“Lavrentiy,” he rasped, “if you think you can go on like this, you’re a fucking basket case.”

His words caught L unguarded, and he snarled.

As if to punctuate, Light kneed him hard in the groin, taking advantage of his surprise and throwing him off of him. Light lunged at him and pinned his arms behind his back, effectively immobilizing him. L knew Light wouldn’t try to kill him—it wasn’t in his best interest—but he also knew he’d do whatever it took to stop him from struggling.

“Be smart, L.” Light growled. “Think about the enemies you’re making.”

L’s face was pushed into the wooden floor, but if he’d had full usage of his mouth, he would have made a dry quip about him having enemies whichever way he swayed. His eyes searched for something he could somehow use as a weapon, but remarkably, there was nothing.

Nonetheless, he continued to writhe, hoping that eventually he would be able to free himself. Light cursed in frustration when he lost control of one of his arms, and L groped around, eventually landing on a moderately-sized shard of glass.

He wrapped his hand around it, his grip tight enough to make the sides cut into his palm and swung behind him blindly. There was a cry of pain, and L took the opportunity to throw the teenager off him, and the ground thudded when Light hit the floor.

L got the opportunity to finally look down on him. Light clasped his arm, blood having seeped through the fabric. That must have been where L had struck him.

After considering, L threw himself at him, aiming the shard at Light’s shoulder. Fortunately for Light, he rolled away just in time, the shard instead sinking into the wood where he had been.

Light rolled away and got to his feet. For a second, he slipped out of L’s vision. L’s head throbbed, his arms burned, and he could feel something wet and warm running down the side of his face. He blinked, the ground spinning from under him, the shard still clasped between his fingers. There was a sudden, ear-splitting pain in his temple, and a flash of Light’s conflicted face, before everything went black.

L’s body slumped to the ground, and Light dropped the lamp, sending it crashing to the floor. There was a scarlet gash across L’s temple, and blood pooling just beneath his thick, matted hair.  

_ Fuck. _

He hurriedly checked his pulse, sighing in relief when he felt the reassuring thumping. He pushed L onto his side, grabbed both of his arms and hoisted him onto the sofa.

Once L was sprawled across the cushions Light eyed him for a moment, deciding to do his best to clean his wounds. A bruise was beginning to bloom on his cheekbone, as well as the red mass residing on his temple.

Light could vaguely remember coming across a first-aid kit when he had been searching through the cabinet in L’s bathroom, and went through to see if he could find it. Sure enough, it sat on the middle shelf, packed full of bandaids, antiseptics and bottles.

There was no sound from the living room, and Light hoped desperately that L wouldn’t wake up any time soon. He rushed back in, and began to clean and bandage the cut adorning L’s head.

Light held a bandage to L’s head—but the bleeding wouldn’t stop. He’d need stitches.

With a sigh he set to work, stitching the wound neatly and carefully. Once he was done, he sat back and surveyed his work.

After he was done, he texted B.

_ Where are you? _

A few minutes later, B responded.

_ I’m just about to board the plane. Keep it under control for the next 14/15 hours. _

Light grit his teeth.  _ Fourteen hours? _ There would be no way L would stay unconscious for more than ten. He’d have to find a way to stop him from escaping.

He supposed he’d have to have another dig through the medicine cabinet.

* * *

 

The sun was beginning to peak from behind New York’s skyline when there was finally a harsh knock at the door. Light shot up—he hadn’t slept or eaten since L had fallen unconscious.

Somehow he hadn’t grown bored—his unrelenting anxiety keeping him occupied. The whole time he barely tore his eyes off L, waiting for movement, waiting for everything to go horribly wrong.

He opened the door with tired eyes and shaking hands. B stood there proudly, grinning, dressed in an oversized coat and dust covered jeans. To Light’s surprise, his left eye was swollen shut, tinged yellow and purple.

“What the fuck happened to your face?”

B grimaced, striding inside. “A small altercation on my way to the airport. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Light snorted, but said nothing else.

B’s eyes landed on L’s unmoving form, and he whistled, his back turned to Light. 

“Nasty,” he tutted, reaching forward to touch the protruding bump on his head.

He wandered to the kitchen area, leisurely he opening and picking through the cabinets, eventually fishing out a packet of crackers.

“He’s got a lot of crap in here,” He said through a mouthful of food. “Things really don’t change, do they?”

Light shrugged, still frozen in his place next to the door.

“So…” He said, “how are we going to deal with…?” He gestured toward L.

“Relax,” B said, with a roll of his eyes. “Calm.  _ Tranquilo _ .”

Light gingerly eyed the figure on the couch, who’s limbs were splayed in uncomfortable directions. B continued to rummage through the cabinets for a few minutes, before sighing and turning back to L.

“Haven’t seen  _ you  _ in a while,” He said softly. He prodded L’s cheek, an almost hypnotized-look having taken over his face.

“I think—“ He started, but he was interrupted by his own snarl of surprise, as a hand reached out and grabbed his arm. B stumbled and swore—evidently that prod had been a mistake.

L yanked at his arms, his eyes open and glowering. He shot Light a poisonous glare, before pulling himself to his feet and swinging a punch at B.

His fist connected with B’s jaw, emitting a strangled yelp. For a moment, no one moved. B touched his hand to his mouth, and when his palm came away stained with crimson, he regarded it with vague interest.

“L,” B said coldly. His eyes drifted upwards. Light felt ready to sink into the floor.

L opened his mouth to speak, his thin shoulders shaking. But instead of saying anything, he shoved B into the table, hard.

B crashed to the floor, hissing in pain, evidently taken aback. Finally, L looked up, his gaze immediately locking onto Light.

Light didn’t waste a moment; immediately he lurched forward, sending L crashing to the ground, his knee pinning his arm to the floor. He was almost impressed at his own efficiency.

L struggled, pushing against Light’s arms, which barely managed to keep L under him. Eventually, he managed to dislodge the knee and kick Light hard in the stomach.

From the corner of his eye, Light noticed that B had stumbled to his feet. He ran his fingers through his hair, offering a crooked smile. Before L could scramble away, he reached for L’s leg and twisted hard.

There was an audible crack, and L howled in pain.

“Fucking hell,” B drawled, “that gave me a shock.”

Light picked himself and dusted himself off, eyeing L, who was still writhing on the floor in pain.

“What did you do, B?” He asked lowly.

“I broke his leg,” B replied casually, as if he were telling Light that he’d gone out and bought some milk. “I’m not sure whether I should—”

As if in response, L’s leg swiped across the floor, almost sending B tumbling.

“Alright,” B laughed airily, “I guess that’s my answer.”

He stamped on L’s other leg, and L threw his head back, gritting his teeth and crying out.

“Shit, Light, will you shut him up?” B said irritably.

Light, who had barely spoken during the entire encounter, hurriedly tugged his sweater off and stuffed it into L’s mouth. L’s eyes locked with his, and Light had to force himself to tear himself away.

“So… what do we do now?” Light said slowly, doing his best to sound calm.

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Like, three?”

“I wish you hadn’t decided to live in such a busy place, L.” B said distastefully, “It would be much easier to get to the get-away car if you lived in, like, Wyoming.”

L grunted in response, his face still red and his arms still shaking.

“Well,” B said. “Light, do downstairs and keep a look out.” He eyed L, who squirmed on the floor. “I’ll carry him.”


	9. not an update

sorry. this isn't an update. sorry to get anybody's hopes up if they cared lol  
i honestly don't know if i'll update any of my fics, but if you're interested in my/my writing, follow me at rach-is-scum on tumblr.  
i'm really sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Unlike with Iridescence, this fic isn't pre-written, and I'm only a chapter or two ahead of publication. So, please leave comments/kudos, it motivates me a lot!  
> Lavrentiy is the name I chose for L, as no sane human names their child 'L'. Don't worry, though, I'll be referring to him as 'L' for the majority of the fic.  
> By the way, if the details of Light's adoption seem fishy--that's because they are. It will be elaborated on as the fix goes on, hopefully.  
> I'd also like to put a disclaimer here--this fic will likely not be a realistic depiction of the Yakuza. I'm obviously trying to make it convincing, but there's only so much research can tell you. I've never been any kind of mobster, nor has anyone I know, so, there's that.


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